A Collection
by Ryeloza
Summary: My annual fic-a-day for December 2010: stories requested by those of you kind enough to read these fics of mine.  Chapter twenty-four: The girls visit Lynette in the hospital.  Season three.
1. One Lie

**Disclaimer: **I am doing this for absolutely no gain (unless you count fun, because I do have a lot of fun writing these). It all belongs to Marc Cherry and ABC.

**A/n: **Well here it goes: my fic-a-day for this December. For those of you unfamiliar, every December I try to write one short fic a day from now until Dec. 24. Usually I pick a common theme, but this year I decided to take requests for fic. This first one is for **CharadesNinja**, who requested a story about Lynette's reaction to Tom and Renee's alleged affair. I have no specifics about what will actually happen on the show beyond some vague spoilers, so this is entirely out of my imagination. I hope you all enjoy.

And please keep the requests coming! I like tackling things that I wouldn't necessarily think of or go out of my way to do on my own, so feel free to leave a suggestion in a review or an email (my address is linked in my profile) or on my blog. Anything in the DH universe is fine with me, so long as it follows canon pairings.

Thanks for reading!

**A Collection**

by **Ryeloza  
**

**One: One Lie**

"Is it true?"

She sees a flash of something in his eyes. He knows. He knows that she knows. But as quickly as the realization sparks, it's replaced by a fear so deadly that it's all the confirmation she needs. "Is it true?" she repeats, the threat implicit: _Tell the truth or so help me God…_

"She told you?"

"Is that a yes?"

Slowly, Tom gives an almost imperceptible nod. She's surprised by how much the affirmation shocks her, like falling so hard that the wind is knocked out of her and she chokes for breath, desperate to stay alive. He's watching her with the most nervous expression, waiting for her to react, waiting for her to do something other than stand there staring. She's not sure if she's glad or pissed that he's not sputtering excuses.

It's strange how much of their marriage she's spent dreading this very moment, and now that it's here, it's nothing like she expected. She expected to be furious; she expected to throw things and shout and rage; she expected to storm out in a fit of righteous indignation. But the truth is that she mostly feels numb; like a dull throbbing after the initial stabbing pain of a stubbed toe or a bumped an elbow. And she doesn't know what to do or say or think, but somehow, something bubbles out of her almost as if someone else is saying it. "I don't believe it."

Tom blinks back tears. He is raw with emotion; he's always so raw with emotion. Just once, she wishes it could be her.

"I don't believe it," she says again. There is more conviction this time. As if after all of the times she's accused him of this or suspected he was cheating or worried that this would happen, she's failing to follow through on her certainty this one time that it's actually true.

"It was one stupid mistake. I wanted to take it back as soon as it happened."

God, are they really this cliché?

"When?"

Tom swallows hard; she can hear it as though he's gulping. "About six weeks after we started dating. We got in that stupid fight…"

She remembers with an astonishing clarity for something that happened over twenty-one years ago. Renee had been visiting; she'd witnessed the whole fight. Nearly orchestrated it, in fact, with her lewd prodding about their relationship; well timed, seemingly casual questions that had set off a series of explosions that ended with Tom storming from her apartment, and Lynette going on a tirade for nearly an hour after he left. Renee stayed long enough to calm her down, and then headed back to her hotel, claiming an early flight the next morning.

"She invited you over." It's a horrid realization, mostly because she thinks she should have known all along. Not because the next day Tom had crawled back to her with apologies and desperation for forgiveness in his every word, but because Renee has always been a chronic disease. She remembers when she first arrived at college, feeling so worldly, but in actuality being so very naïve. The freedom from her family had been addicting, and she'd gotten caught up in a whirlwind of excitement and rebellion, urged on by her roommate constantly pushing her, whispering in her ear to go for it. She'd been drunk on the adrenaline rush; she'd marveled at the idea that some rich, beautiful, popular girl actually wanted to be her friend because in so many ways she was still crippled by years of abuse. It had been a long time before she realized that Renee was using her, getting off on her ability to bring her down.

That could have been the end of it. They'd gotten into a fight; she'd finally stood up for herself. But just a few weeks later, she'd seen Renee with her own family and realized that they had more in common than she'd ever suspected. Suddenly she couldn't abandon the friendship, no matter how poisonous. From there on out, she'd always thought they were on even ground, both of them able to give as good as they took. She'd been more cautious, more aware of Renee's dangerous side—the jealousy and fear and anger that plagued her destructive actions.

And all this time, all these years, she has gone on believing that she knows Renee well enough to keep her from ever being a threat.

She hates being wrong.

"I should never have gone," Tom says in a rush. "I was drunk, and I wasn't thinking, and it just happened."

"She pushed you into it."

Tom hesitates, and she tries not to read too much into the pause. It doesn't mean he's lying. That he's going to lie. "I shouldn't have gone," he finally repeats.

She almost laughs. He wants to take responsibility for this, now, twenty-one years after the fact. It's ridiculous. He's right; he shouldn't have gone. But she knows without a doubt that once he was there, Renee orchestrated every step like the calculating shrew she is. What was it, she wonders, that pushed her to do it? Was it just the challenge of taking something that wasn't hers? Was it being able to prove that she could still best Lynette where it counted the most? A smug reminder of which of them really had the power? But if that's the truth, why wait twenty-one years to tell her?

The reason doesn't really matter, she slowly realizes. What difference does it make in the long run? All she knows is that it hurts. It hurts so badly to think that no matter the reason, Renee had been able to get Tom away from her. She had been seduce him. And she just wishes that he had said no. That he had resisted. That he had loved her more.

She wishes that she'd never found out.

"You are the only woman I've ever been in love with." Before he's even done speaking, Lynette is aware that she's shaking her head—she doesn't want him to try to make this better that way (if there is any way to possibly make this better)—but Tom ignores her. "I was young and angry and stupid and I didn't have the slightest clue about how I felt about you. And then…_that_ happened, and it was this horrible epiphany. I knew I was in love with you and I knew that I'd just fucked everything up."

"So you decided to lie to me? Pretend it never happened?"

Tom shrugs hopelessly. "I was desperate."

Lynette wants to roll her eyes. She wants to call him out for lying to her for so many years, for betraying her, for trying to excuse it all by saying that he loved her, but at the same time, some niggling part of her mind knows exactly what would have happened if he had told her. He was right to be scared.

They wouldn't have had the past twenty-one years together.

Now they're at the same crossroads, all these years later, and she knows that it's entirely up to her whether to walk away and give up the next twenty years or to forgive him. Forgive that twenty-nine-year-old man who betrayed her for the man who has stayed by her side, faithful and loving and constant, for the past two decades. The man who stands before her now, confessing one lie that could change their entire relationship. One lie.

"Lynette?"

She already knows what she has to do.


	2. Waiting

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still not mine.

**A/n: **Okay, second fic up. This was one requested by **Jaz,** who asked for something that featured a pregnant Lynette. I hope you all enjoy!

Also, thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter, and to those of you who offered some more requests! I'm really looking forward to writing these out.

-**Ryeloza**

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Two: Waiting**

"When is my baby sister coming?"

Lynette looked at Parker, surprised to see him regarding her like she was purposely keeping the baby from him. They'd only told the boys about a month ago that she was pregnant, and thus far Parker's curiosity had been limited to putting his hand on her stomach to feel the baby kick and suggesting baby names (of which his current favorites were Purple and Kiki). Otherwise, he'd seemed rather unconcerned with the arrival of his little sister.

"It's still four more months, buddy."

"How long's that?"

"After Christmas."

"When's Christmas?"

Lynette bit back a sigh and halfheartedly framed the timeline as best she could for a four-year-old. "After Halloween. It's going to be awhile."

"Why?"

"Because right now she hasn't grown enough to be able to live outside of my tummy."

Thankfully, Parker seemed to accept this explanation, and Lynette let her eyes drift back to her magazine with the vague hope that this would be the end of it. From the time he'd learned to talk, Parker had been the most inquisitive child, constantly questioning everything and everybody. It drove her crazy as often as it made her laugh, and she was never sure if she was more or less grateful for his way of discovering things versus the twins' overwhelming need to learn everything hands-on. At least Parker had the sense to believe her when she told him that it was dangerous to touch the stove.

Of course, there were some days she swore that if she heard why one more time…

Parker climbed onto the couch and tugged on her sleeve, clearly annoyed that she'd diverted her attention before he was done. "Well can't Daddy take her for awhile?"

Laughter bubbled through her response, though she tried to cover it as best she could. "I wish he could, but no, sweetie, Daddy can't take her."

"Why not?"

"Because the universe is unfair."

Parker frowned, and crossed his arms with an absolutely obstinate expression that she knew he'd inherited from her. Sometimes it still felt surreal to see herself reflected so perfectly in her children, a feat of nature that seemed as cruel as it was amazing some days. Fondly, she pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. "What's going on, bud?" she asked, lightly tweaking his nose. "Are you worried about having a little sister?"

"No. I just wish she'd get her already."

Lynette smiled, wondering if he'd still feel that way after the baby was actually born. She could only hope. "You'll be surprised how fast it goes."

"But I wanna sit on your lap now."

"What?" Lynette blinked, baffled by the statement. It was the last thing she'd expected to hear.

"That stupid baby made your tummy too big and now I can't sit in your lap no more."

"Oh."

"So I wish she'd just get here already."

Lynette nodded, overwhelmed by the sincerely disappointed expression on Parker's face. For all the reasons that pregnancy was a bother, somehow seeing it hurt her child in any way was suddenly the most unpleasant part of it. Gently, she reached out and pulled him to her side so he could snuggle against her. "I know how you feel," she said. "But this is okay too, right?"

"I guess."

She suppressed a little sigh and planted another kiss on the top of his head. There was nothing she could do to fix this one. They both just had to wait it out.


	3. Late Night

**Disclaimer: **This still isn't mine.

**A/n: **Another one for **Jaz**, who gave me two suggestions. I decided to do both. This one is a request for something with Lynette and Paige in season seven, and it turned out rather short but sweet. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you again for all of the kind feedback.

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Three: Late Night**

It was a Wednesday when exhaustion finally got the better of Lynette. As soon as her head touched her pillow that night, she fell into the soundest sleep she'd had since the baby was born, an instant, gratifying slumber that was inevitably interrupted by Paige's crying a few hours later. She stirred reluctantly, roused by the sound though her brain felt cloudy and her eyes barely managed to open, and for just a moment, she pressed her face into her pillow and tried to block out the sound. Tom had wandered into her personal space during the night, and his arm was haphazardly slung around her waist, his head resting on her back like she was a pillow. As usual, he seemed immune to Paige's wailing. Annoyed, she rolled over, purposely waking him up.

"What'sgoingon?" he mumbled in an incomprehensible rush while she rubbed her eyes, trying to find the energy to get out of bed. Taking advantage of her sluggishness, he rolled over again and slung his arm back over her. "Go back to sleep."

"Baby's crying."

"Yeah."

Lynette rolled her eyes, squirming out from beneath his grip and slipping out of bed. Despite the dark, despite the fact that she still hadn't managed to open her eyes, she padded down the hall with the effortless familiarity of someone who had spent twenty odd years treading this path. It was funny how quickly the routine of having a newborn had come back to her; the patterns and movements and habits that she'd thought she'd forgotten long ago had come back to her like second nature. Like now, creeping into the nursery, only half-awake, scooping up her baby and settling into the rocking chair ready to feed her in less than a minute. "There we go," she muttered, leaning back and shutting her eyes while Paige quieted down.

Between her five children, Lynette had had a countless number of these sleepless nights, awake when the rest of the world was asleep, just her and her babies. Nights of pacing the floor, incessantly rocking Preston back to sleep; a terrifying bout of the croup with Porter, when she'd spent nearly the whole night in the bathroom with the shower running so the steam could clear his lungs; singing to Parker because it seemed to be the only thing that would lull him; dozing off with Penny in her arms. They had been some of the most tiring, terrible, never-ending nights of her life, and yet when she looked back on them, she remembered them with something akin to fondness.

Of course, in the middle of the night, it was hard to look at it that way, and she was positive that it would be years before she thought back on these nights with any kind of warm feeling.

Lynette yawned, absently patting Paige's bottom, and monotonously rocking back and forth. The action was as comforting to her as it was to the baby, and she was enormously grateful that Tom hadn't let her get rid of this chair when she'd wanted to. She'd regarded his hesitation to get rid of their baby stuff first with the fear that despite his reassurances otherwise, he wanted another child, and then later with a slightly incredulous affection for his nostalgia. As little as she wanted to admit it, having this chair again now, sparked a wistfulness that she was honestly happy to have. She'd never said so to Tom, but she had the impression that he knew exactly how she felt.

Life really was strange. Just a year ago, the thought of becoming a mother again had been the most terrifying idea in the world. She'd been overwhelmed by the idea that couldn't handle it again—that she didn't want to; trembling with the knowledge that her entire life was going to change. At the time, it had felt so starkly similar and absolutely different than her other pregnancies that she'd never been so unsure of anything in her life, and she still wondered if the ensuing heartbreaks had been some kind of punishment for her ambivalence. Losing Patrick, nearly losing Paige—it felt like fate had stepped in to destroy her. Yet here she was, holding her beautiful, healthy baby girl, and for every moment that she still felt tired and lost and beleaguered, there was that wonderful, underlying knowledge that she was supposed to have this little girl in her arms.

The door creaked open and Lynette opened one eye to see Tom shuffling into the room looking as tired as she felt. It was an unexpected, if welcome, appearance, but she barely managed a smile before her eyes drifted shut again. Slowly, he crouched down next to her, resting a hand on her knee and yawning.

"She done feeding yet?"

Lynette nodded, though she'd barely noticed that Paige had contented herself minutes ago. Unthinkingly, she shifted the baby up to her shoulder and patted her back.

"I made a promise to myself tonight that I'd get up with her for you."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Not too well." Tom leaned down and kissed her knee. "But I'm here now. Why don't you go back to bed?"

Lynette smiled, shutting her eyes again and resuming her gentle rocking. "That's okay," she sighed contentedly. "We're fine here."

It was every thought and hope she had expressed in the simplest way, but Lynette knew that it was enough for Tom to understand: that somehow, as tired as she was, the late night suddenly didn't seem quite so bad.


	4. Thinking of You This Christmas

**Disclaimer: **I'm still just having fun with this, and that is my only gain and purpose.

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for the reviews and requests! My list gets longer every day, and I'm so excited to be doing these.

This one is for **xoCupcakexo**, who requested a story about Bree and Orson thinking of each other at Christmas. I really hope you enjoy it.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Four: Thinking of You This Christmas**

**Part I**

"Do you usually hide Christmas presents with the decorations?"

"What? No—" Bree looked up from the box of baubles she was sorting through, and even as the denial slipped out, it nearly died away as she saw what Keith was holding. The gift was a long, thin package—nondescript in almost every way, except for the precise, taut bow on top. She would have recognized Orson's flair for bows anywhere; she couldn't count the number of times she'd made him tie them over the years. Without thinking, she held out her hand and took the present, careful not to spoil the aesthetics. "Oh, I forgot about this," she said, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for the lie that spilled effortlessly and instinctively from her. "I got this for Danielle ages ago. I'll have to mail it…"

Keith was giving her a rather peculiar look, but he didn't question the explanation. "What did you get her?"

"A bracelet. Opal. It's her birthstone."

If Bree was more cognizant, she might have questioned why she was lying to her boyfriend about this, but as it stood, her attention was utterly focused on the present. Orson must have hidden it sometime after last Christmas, and some foolish part of her wondered if he had actually left it for her to find this year. She knew that it was illogical and much more likely that he had forgotten about it, but there wasn't any sound thought behind how her heart had sped up at the sight of the box either. So maybe, just maybe, this was one final goodbye; one final display of what they once had.

"I should go put this with the rest of what I'm mailing her."

Keith, now distracted by the Christmas lights, nodded. "Okay."

Calmly, Bree slipped away to the kitchen where she did have a package partially completed for her daughter and grandson. She kept her back to the door, surreptitious even with Keith in the other room, and with slightly trembling hands, eased the bow off. The paper she regarded with less care, and a few seconds later, she opened a thin white box and gasped in surprise. Nestled in a lining of red tissue paper lay her grandmother's watch, an elegant piece that Bree had inherited years ago and then found broken by her children only a week later. She'd never been able to find someone to properly restore it; she'd given up hope that it would ever be anything more than a useless sentiment. Yet somehow Orson…

Only Orson.

Gently, she took out the watch and fastened it to her wrist, and it was only out of the corner of her eye that she noticed the small slip of paper that lay within the tissue. With the trepid curiosity of someone scared to be reminded of what she'd lost that year, Bree picked up the note and blinked back the tears that had already begun to form in her eyes.

_Bree,_

_I hope you're surprised. This has been a present that was years in the making; a dream of mine for you that I finally managed to make come true. I meant for this to be your birthday present, but by now you know that things simply haven't worked out between us. Even as I write this, I'm getting ready to leave, and I'm sorry for that. I thought about maybe giving this to you now, but the truth is that I wanted one last chance to make your Christmas special. I wanted to leave you with one last reminder that I'll always treasure the days we did have together. When you see this, think of me with any fondness you may have left, and know that I'm thinking of you too._

_Orson_

Reverently, Bree folded the note, not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks or suppress the crushing tremor of emotions within her. For the first time in months, she felt the raw pain of what she'd lost; the grief of the end of what had been, mostly, a long and happy marriage.

For the first time, she admitted to herself that she missed Orson.

**Part II**

Orson had always found it peculiar how the holidays brought out the worst kind of melancholy. He had no family left, no wife, no children. There was his girlfriend, but her idea of Thanksgiving had been microwave turkey dinners, and Orson hadn't had the heart to recreate the splendor of the meals of his past. Now it was nearly Christmas, and he was trapped in a tiny apartment with a fake Christmas tree and the promise of another depressing meal with a woman he was less interested in with each passing day.

Whoever had first claimed that this was the most wonderful time of the year had been some soul completed surrounded by his loved ones, safe in the knowledge that he was adored. Orson could remember that time with great nostalgia; not having it now only made Christmas more unbearably depressing.

To his surprise, one of the worst parts of the day had turned out to be checking the mail. In years past, Orson had never truly appreciated the warmth and tenderness of Christmas cards. They'd been trinkets worth a quick smile; a display for the living room that didn't really mean much to him. He'd never appreciated how much those cards actually meant until now. With just two weeks left until Christmas, Orson had received only three cards: one from Andrew and one from Danielle, both surely obligatory gestures, and, to his shock, a rather syrupy, but well-intentioned one from Susan Delfino. They sat on his windowsill now as a sad reminder of his life.

And so it was that every day, Orson approached his mailbox with something akin to dread, always waiting with baited breath for a cheerful envelope among the bills and catalogues, and always finding himself disappointed. Perhaps that was why when he pulled out his mail that Thursday and spotted the merry flash of green, his heart sped up with excitement. At least that was what he told himself. He didn't want to think that it was the sight of Bree's perfect, slanted handwriting smiling up at him (though all the while he was very sure that was exactly the reason why).

It took Orson nearly an hour to work up the courage to open the card. He was worried it would be a perfunctory gesture; a hollow card with no personal message inside; a last minute thought of him as Bree made out her Christmas card list for that year. The idea that she'd treat him so casually was worse than if she didn't send him a card at all. In the end, though, it was worse not to know, and so Orson slit open the envelope and pulled out the card.

A bright sprig of holly adorned the front, but Orson scarcely paid attention as he opened the card and scanned past the "Merry Christmas" to the note scribed below. It was short; so short that for a moment he almost didn't have the guts to read it, but he found he just couldn't ignore it, no matter what it was.

_Orson,_

_I can only say thank you, and trust that you know exactly how much those two words mean._

_Bree_

_PS: I am thinking of you too._

With shaking hands, Orson lowered the card to his lap, finding himself unable to fight the first smile he'd worn in weeks. She'd found the present, he realized dimly. That one last, crazy, heartsick gesture that he'd double guessed a hundred times over since he'd first hidden it among her Christmas decorations. Apparently it had meant everything he'd wanted it to, and he found himself imagining the grin on her face when she opened it; the little gasp of surprise she must have made at the sight of the watch.

Very suddenly, he wished he could have been there to see her open the present.

Orson sighed softly. He and Bree were worlds apart now, and maybe they had been for years. There was no use in wishing for something that could never be.

Still, he didn't hesitate to add her card to his collection; at least now he'd have a reason to smile every day.


	5. Cakes and Fears and Other Things

**Disclaimer: **This really still isn't mine. I promise.

**A/n: **Number five is for **Meg**, who requested a pre-series story about Lynette and Tom breaking up and then finding their way back to each other. I really enjoyed writing this one. Thanks for the suggestion.

And thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing and requesting!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Five: Cakes and Fears (and Other Things)**

They broke up before they were ever really together.

At least, that's how Tom saw it. It was quite possible that Lynette viewed the situation entirely differently, but in Tom's opinion, two dates and a handful of stolen kisses in the office hardly qualified as a relationship. They never even slept together, though that wasn't for lack of trying (on his part, at least). There had been a disagreement, which escalated into a fight, which escalated into her kicking him out of her apartment and telling him that it was over. And Tom, quite frankly, was bewildered by the whole thing.

It started with a cake. Or at least that's what he thought. Quite possibly it was one of those fights with a deeper meaning that went right over his head, which could explain why he didn't really understand the break-up. She'd invited him over, and he'd gone with a jaunt in his step and a bottle of wine (thinking that it was finally the night), but when he got there she was in jeans and a sweatshirt making a cake.

"Here, taste this," she'd ordered the moment she opened the door, and she force-fed him a spoonful of the best icing he'd ever had in his life. Groaning in delight, he'd taken the spoon from her and licked it clean.

"That's amazing."

Lynette had seemed less than enthused by the pronouncement. "Great," she'd said flatly, storming into the kitchen and picking up an entire bowl of the fluffy white concoction. With painstaking precision, she began to ice what looked like a most delicious chocolate cake.

"Did you want a different answer?"

"No. It's what I expected."

He'd been puzzled by this. Perhaps that was where it all went wrong. "Do I get to taste the rest of it?"

"No. This is for my sister's husband's mother. She's dying."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I get a phone call this morning," she'd said as though he hadn't spoken. "'Lynette, can you please make a cake for Dave's mother. She's on her death bed. Cake would really cheer her up.' As if I can't see through that."

"See through…?"

Lynette turned, venom in her eyes like he'd never seen, dangerously pointing the spatula at him. "She needed a cake like this the same time last year. Begged me for one, in fact. I'm not an idiot!"

"Of course not—"

"Dave's birthday is this month!"

Tom, still hopelessly lost, had barely managed an inquisitive, "Oh?"

"She's obviously coming up with these elaborate excuses to make a cake for her so she can give it to Dave!"

Tom had stared. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the moment Lynette had actually expected him to respond. "And that's…bad."

"I don't just go around making cakes, Tom," she'd said as though this was something he should have known after two dates. "Especially not for something like that!"

"For a birthday."

"Right."

"Uh…why not?"

"Do you know how much time and effort goes into making a cake? Do you have any idea?"

Tom, who had never made a cake in his life, just shook his head.

"It's something special! Something meaningful! How does no one understand that?"

"Because it's just a cake?"

It had been, probably, the stupidest thing he'd ever said, and immediately he'd wanted to take it back.

"Just a cake?" She'd rounded on him, invading his personal space with the bowl of icing still in hand. The sad part was, as much as he'd been torn between laughter and terror, mostly he'd wanted to kiss her. Her passion, as irrational as it was, had been a real turn-on. "It's not 'just a cake,' Tom. It's never 'just a cake'!"

He'd dipped his finger into the bowl, and helped himself to another sample. "Tastes like cake to me." He still didn't know why he'd said it. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Maybe he was hankering for a fight. Maybe he hadn't been able to resist the way her eyes flashed dangerously when she was going in for the kill.

Maybe he was an idiot.

It was probably that one.

The argument had quickly disintegrated into a fight from there. Out of the blue, she'd started yelling at him about his expectations for their relationship, and he'd countered by saying that they weren't even in a relationship yet, and she'd screamed that that was because he still hadn't broken up with his other girlfriend.

"I'll break up with her!" he'd shouted.

"Don't bother! This, whatever it is, is over!"

And she'd kicked him out.

Perhaps the strangest part was that after he stormed out, he'd been so hyped up that he actually had marched over to Annabel's and broken up with her. Maybe it was stupid because now he had no girlfriend, but the truth was that from the moment he and Lynette had first kissed, he hadn't wanted Annabel anyway. And as much as he had never been the type of guy to pass up sex—meaningless or not—he suddenly found that he only wanted to do it with Lynette, and staying with Annabel seemed pretty pointless.

So now he got to pine away for the crazy cake lady, and not get laid at all. What a compromise.

At first, he'd thought that Lynette just needed a few days to cool down. But when word got out about his and Annabel's break-up, Lynette's only reaction had been to roll her eyes. Tom wasn't sure what to do. He'd been (apparently wrongly) convinced that the fight was about Annabel, and now he had absolutely no idea how to fix things with Lynette. Fortunately (for him—maybe not so much for Lynette), he'd never been the type to give up easily; in fact, one could even say he beat dead horses with his obstinate refusal to quit. That was how he wound up at Lynette's door again, replaying the fight in his head in one last desperate attempt to understand what had gone wrong.

Besides him being an idiot, he had nothing. He'd have to go with that.

Slowly, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. Lynette answered, but when she saw it was him, she went to slam the door shut and he had no choice but to wedge his foot in to stop her. It hurt more than he expected. "Son of a bitch!"

"That's what happens when you put your foot in the door!" She opened and closed it on his foot a few more times.

"Damn it! Okay! I'm an idiot!"

"That fact that you still haven't moved your foot would suggest that, yes."

"No! I mean about last week! I shouldn't have said that your cake was just a cake!"

"You think that's what I'm mad about?" She opened the door to slam it shut again, and he panicked.

"No, wait, wait, wait! Okay, I'm going to be truthful here. I have no idea why we broke up."

"Yeah. Okay." The words dripped of sarcasm, and Tom winced. Her opinion of his idiocy was probably about to ratchet up the scale ten notches.

"Seriously."

She looked up at him, surprised. "Seriously?"

He nodded, and cautiously put a hand on the door. "Can we please talk about this?"

There was a long pause before Lynette finally heaved a sigh and opened the door. Tom slipped through quickly, lest she change her mind and throw him out for good, and turned to face her. He was probably dangerously close to her personal space, but it had been a week since he'd kissed her and the smell of her perfume was too intoxicating to resist. He'd risk further trauma if he pissed her off. "I'm sorry," he said. She rolled her eyes. Not exactly the response he was looking for.

"We didn't break up because of you. We broke up because of me."

For a second, Tom's entire world tilted on its axis and he felt like he was going to fall over. Then his mind came back to him. "Is that another way of saying it's not you, it's me."

"No. Yes. Maybe. But it's not just a line. It really is me."

"No, see, that doesn't seem right. It's always me."

Lynette shook her head. To his surprise, she almost looked like she was going to cry, but instead she chuckled. If anything, it only made him more desperate for her. She was such an enigma, one that he'd wanted to understand from the moment he met her. He was willing to say that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to figure her out if he had to, because he knew that something amazing lay underneath all of her complexities.

"You know why I don't bake cakes for just anyone?" She straightened up to her full height, almost like she was steeling herself against something. It was a strange sight. "It's because the morning of my sister's fifth birthday, I woke up to find my mom too trashed to even go to the store to buy her a cake. And I was only ten, but I spent the whole morning trying to make a cake for her. It was terrible."

"Making the cake?"

"No. The cake. It was terrible. But I was so convinced that it was going to happen again that I just kept practicing and practicing until I finally had it down. It was like a punishment. To this day, I hate making cakes."

Tom didn't know what to say, and that was probably why the joke spilled out instinctively. "Well there's always pie."

Lynette laughed, and then sobbed, and then she was crying, and he couldn't think of anything else to do but step forward and pull her close to him. She buried her head in his chest, sniffling into his shirt. "I'm so fucked up. You don't want to date me."

"You're wrong about that." He kissed the top of her head. "Besides, everyone is fucked up one way or another. Dating is about finding the person who loves you because of all that."

"Don't you mean in spite of?"

"No. Because of. Because it's made you who you are. I happen to only find myself more attracted to you for being such a basket case about cakes."

"Shut up."

"Nope. I'm serious. In fact, I'm just going to say it now: I demand that you never make a cake for me. Got it? Only birthday pies from here on out."

Lynette pulled back, looking up at him with damp, but shining eyes. "I can only make apple."

"Great. That's my favorite anyway."

She kissed him, and Tom smiled.


	6. Fifty Two Cards

**Disclaimer: **Not mine!

**A/n: **Getting this one in just under the wire (darn full time job!). This one is for **Maddy**, who requested a fic about either Tom and Lynette's wedding or their honeymoon. Since I already wrote a version of their wedding (in "The Hour Shadows Disappear"), I decided to do a little scene from their honeymoon. I hope this is satisfactory.

Please continue to read and review (and request!).

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Six: Fifty-Two Cards**

Tom Scavo had spent an inexcusable amount of time fantasizing about his honeymoon. At work when he was supposed to be listening to a presentation, his mind was far away on a sandy beach. At dinner with his future sisters-in-law, he was actually thinking about doing some very naughty things in a hot tub. While driving down the highway, he was imagining the very skimpy outfits Lynette was sure to pack for their occasion. The anticipation was a thrilling overture to the trip—an adventure Tom knew he would experience only once in a lifetime. This was why he had the very great suspicion that fate stepped in to make sure everything went awry.

First, their flight was delayed. For three hours, they sat in the airport terminal, Lynette half-asleep as she leaned against his arm while he tapped his leg anxiously. He had every reason to be on edge; by the time they got to the hotel, their suite had been given away and they were forced into a tiny room with two twin beds and no hot tub. "Just for one night," the hotel manager said apologetically while he scowled and Lynette raged. "We can upgrade you tomorrow."

As things were going, Tom would believe it when he saw it.

On top of that, he could hear rain pouring outside in droves, and he could only imagine that the next day would be soggy and sodden and miserable. His misty dreams of having sex on the beach seemed to be fading more quickly with every passing minute.

And so it was in a considerably bad mood that Tom flopped back on one of the beds and glowered at the ceiling, wondering if this was some sort of bad omen for their marriage. It was a melodramatic thought, to be sure, but Tom wasn't feeling particularly grounded at the moment.

"This isn't so bad," Lynette called from the bathroom. "We can get through one night."

Tom frowned. "If it's only one night."

"Don't be such a pessimist."

"I just wanted this to be perfect!"

From the other room, Lynette laughed—a girlish, rich bubbling of noise that nearly forced a smile to his face. Maybe she was right. Maybe everything would look better in the morning.

"Cheer up, gloomy Gus."

Or now.

Lynette had emerged from the bathroom wearing the skimpiest little white negligee he'd ever seen and sporting a grin that couldn't be described as anything less than cocky. Tom supposed she deserved the bragging rights, as the minute he'd laid eyes on her he'd sat up and ogled her from head to toe. "You like?" she asked, slowly spinning around; if the teddy had been one inch shorter he would have been able to see everything.

"Do you have to ask?"

She shrugged, playing coy, and ran a finger over her clavicle. "Just making sure you're satisfied." Tom grinned, springing from the bed to approach her, but Lynette held up a finger. "You know," she said, purposefully stretching her hands over her head so the silky garment slipped upward, "I was thinking we should play a little game."

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh." She turned, digging in the bag she'd thrown on the nightstand when they arrived, and pulled out a deck of cards. Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. "We each pick a card," she explained, removing them from the box and shuffling them. "High card gets to decide where to kiss the other person."

Tom swallowed hard and backed up to the bed. Lynette followed him, looking rather like a lioness on the prowl. "Only one kiss at a time, though," she said, stepping between his legs and tugging his shirt off. "Deal?"

"Deal."

Lynette grinned and chose the top card from the deck; she glanced at it before pulling it to her chest, and after a moment of gawking, Tom did the same. A king. With a wicked little smile, he turned the card, and when Lynette showed him her three of spades, he gleefully tossed the king aside. Slowly, he set his hands on her hips and turned her around, and then he stood up behind her and brushed her hair away from her neck. He lowered his lips, delighting in the way her breath had shortened, and lightly kissed the curve of her neck. No need to take it too fast; he wanted to hear her beg for it, to dissolve in unbearable ecstasy right before his very eyes.

Wordlessly, Lynette spun back around, so close to him that her breasts pressed against his chest, and drew another card. Tom did the same, and a moment later nearly burst in triumph. His jack to her ten. Delighted, he took her hand in his, raising her arm and kissing the inside of her wrist, this time letting his tongue graze over her pulse point before releasing her.

With just two little kisses, her breathing was nearly ragged, and Tom was unconscionably proud of himself.

Third draw went his way as well—a delicate kiss to her palm—but on the fourth try, she finally came out on top. Tom waited with bated breath to see what she was going to do; where she was going to touch him. She seemed to be taking her time, considering all of the possibilities, drawing out the anticipation in some heavenly torture. Finally, she rose on her tiptoes, tilting her head and kissing his Adam's apple. Tom had to fight to keep his hands from pulling her toward him and ending the game right there.

She won again the next round, kissing his chest in the most agonizingly pleasurable way, but then he bested her twice more, first letting his lips graze the swell of her breast, and then her inner thigh. He was straining against his pants at that point, itching to undo them and pull them off, and judging by the way Lynette continued to press into him, she knew exactly how badly he wanted her. Unfortunately for her, he knew she wasn't any better off; he'd trailed a finger over her while kissing her thigh, and he was aware exactly how turned on she was by all of this.

Trembling, he drew the next card first, and peered hard at the six of hearts while she did the same. As they turned their cards, Tom felt his smile broaden; she had the six of diamonds.

"It's a t—"

It was as far as he got before Lynette's arm wrapped around his neck and she pulled him down to kiss him right on the lips. The kiss was desperate—hot and heady and enough to make his head spin. With no concern for continuing their game or winning or losing (was there possibly a loser in this?), Tom twisted his fingers through her hair and tugged her even closer. Her tongue grazed his bottom lip, his slipped over hers into her mouth, and then she pushed him back on the bed, her hands groping at his pants. At that moment, everything from the bad day to the game to where they were, drifted completely from his mind, and all he concentrated on was the exquisite sensation of his wife's body against his.

The fifty-two cards lay forgotten on the floor.


	7. Surprise

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Not mine. Not for profit.

**A/n: **Whew, I'm starting to cut these close. This one is for **Amy**, who asked for a fic about Tom and Lynette's anniversary. Since I already wrote their first anniversary (a one shot simply titled "Anniversary"), I decided to do a future fic and write about their thirtieth. And, just for a change of pace, I decided to tackle it from a bit of a different angle. I hope you all still enjoy this one.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and to every one of you who has requested something so far. It really means a lot to me.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Seven: Surprise**

Penny crossed her legs, contracting her body as much as possible in an effort to free up a little more room on the couch, but at the same moment, Preston turned to give his girlfriend an Eskimo kiss and Parker, nearly gagging with disgust, sprung from the couch. Unfortunately, suddenly not being packed in like a can of sardines caused Penny to lose her center of gravity, and she slumped over right into Rebecca.

"Whoopsies!" Rebecca giggled and helped Penny sit back up, the latter of whom had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. Preston's new girlfriend was almost artificially saccharine, and judging by the looks on her siblings' faces, they were trying as hard as she was not to react. "You okay there, sweetie?"

"Uh…yeah. Thanks."

Rebecca grinned and then gave Preston another kiss. From where he now sat next to Paige, Parker looked positively nauseated. "So," he said loudly, seeming to try to break up the caucus between the love birds, "did Mom and Dad say when they'd be back?"

"Mom told the babysitter to make sure Paige got into bed by nine, so sometime after that."

Paige sat up with large, anxious eyes. "I thought I got to stay up too!"

"Yeah," agreed Porter just as Penny—the only one who had actually talked to the babysitter before sending her home—shook her head.

"Jeez, Penny, lighten up a little."

"Yeah. Mom's going to be too busy crying to notice if she's up a little late or not."

Realizing she'd won, Paige stuck out her tongue, and Penny fell silent. She knew better than to get into a four-to-one battle, and they were (as much as she was loathe to admit it), probably right anyway. The whole family hadn't been in the same place at the same time since two Christmases ago; the five of them had been planning this surprise for their parents' thirtieth anniversary for months now, and Penny knew that they were going to be shocked.

"Ooh, does your mom get really emotional too?" asked Rebecca with the glee of a small child. "Mine cries over anything—even those really heartfelt cards you see at the store. I'm the same way."

The five of them—even Preston—exchanged looks of disbelief at that one, though none of them chose to correct Rebecca's way of thinking. There was no way to really explain their mother or their parents as a unit or their relationship: they just were. Unfortunately, Rebecca seemed to be on a roll.

"Your parents have been married, what, thirty years now? That's so sweet."

"You might even say adorable!" joked Porter, and Penny snorted before she could stop herself, ignoring the death glare Preston shot her way.

Rebecca smiled a little self-deprecatingly (maybe she wasn't as unaware as Penny had assumed), and said, "Come on. After that many years, you must have some cute stories about your parents."

"Ah yes," said Parker, with the air of an elderly man about to recollect. "Remember the time Dad decided he wanted to go skydiving and he tried to convince Mom to go with him? It was the fight heard 'round the block."

"You're very sarcastic."

"Thank you."

"Ah, sweetie, you've just got to get used to the family," said Preston. "Sarcasm is our shtick."

"Sarcasm is the refuge of those too scared to be genuine."

This time, Penny actually did roll her eyes—which was probably a deliberately sardonic act—and she could tell Porter and Parker were vying for who got to respond first, but Paige beat them both to the punch. "Dad gives Mom a kiss on the cheek every morning. That means they still love each other, right?"

Parker ruffled her hair. "Everyone knows they still love each other, kid."

"I caught them dancing in the kitchen once," said Penny thoughtfully. Despite her reluctance to justify Rebecca's observation, not freaking out her baby sister took precedence. She remembered all too well what it was like to be a kid and deal with the strange insecurity of wondering if your parents' marriage was as flawless as you thought it should be. It was a harsh realization that even those truly in love—even your parents—had their ups and downs; one that it took years to fully understand.

"Dad always makes Mom chocolate chip pancakes when she has a really bad day."

"I like how Mom still laughs at Dad's stupid jokes."

Porter shook his head in a condescendingly loving way. "Let's face it," he said, "without Dad, Mom would be completely crazy, and without Mom, Dad would be lost. They're just supposed to be together."

"I'll drink to that," said Parker, raising the bottle of beer in his hand; the rest of them (excepting Paige, of course, and Rebecca, who apparently didn't drink) followed suit. Lazily, he glanced at his watch and then craned his neck to look out the window. "Are we sure they're coming home to—Okay…isn't that their car?"

Penny scrambled from the couch and joined Parker in looking out the window; indeed, it appeared that their parents' car was parked in the driveway. "Yeah," she agreed slowly, "but where are they?"

She and Parker exchanged a look, the same realization dawning on them at once. "Oh God," he groaned, "they're not doing it in the car, are they?"

Paige frowned. "Doing what?"

"Nothing," they chorused as one. Then, to Penny's relief, one of the car doors opened and her father stepped out. Whatever they'd been doing—if they'd been doing anything—they were apparently done.

"Incoming."

Parker lifted Paige from where she half-sat on his lap and stood up next to Penny. After a moment, the twins followed suit.

The front door opened, and Penny exchanged an amused glance with Porter at the sound of their mother's girlish giggling. A second later, their parents stumbled into the house, kissing one another without the slightest awareness that anyone else was there. Obliviously, Paige stood up on the arm of the chair, holding onto Parker's shoulders for support, and called out, "Surprise!"

Their parents pulled apart, clearly bewildered, as the rest of them faintly echoed Paige's enthusiastic exclamation. It seemed to take a moment for their parents to realize what they were seeing, but then their faces broke into grins and suddenly everyone was hugging everyone else (their mother's eyes, as Parker had suggested, tearing up). "What are you all doing here?" she asked, kissing Penny's cheek and then pulling Parker down for a hug.

"We were too cheap to get you a present this year, so we thought we'd just come home and bug you for a few days."

Their dad cuffed the back of Porter's head fondly. "I can't believe you're all here."

"Well you know," said Penny with a little shrug. "Thirty years seemed like kind of a big deal. And you guys gave us life and all."

Their father pulled her in for another hug, and then looked over to their mother with eyes that were suspiciously glassy. She returned the glance with such a privately fond expression, that Penny couldn't help but think that Rebecca had been right. Their parents were a sweet couple. And after thirty years, they were still completely in love with one another.


	8. It's Three in the Morning and I Miss You

**Disclaimer: **This absolutely isn't mine. I swear.

**A/n: **Another one for **Amy**, whose other request was a fic about either Tom or Lynette's birthday. I decided to do Lynette's birthday set in season two. This takes place in between "No One Is Alone" and "Remember Part One." I hope you enjoy.

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Eight: It's Three in the Morning and I Miss You**

Lynette lay in the lumpy hotel bed, trying to ignore the way the starchy covers scratched her cheek and the sound of the boys fighting over the television remote. She could tell by their volume that they were trying not to wake her, and she was in no hurry to correct their assumption that she was still asleep. The truth was that she'd only been dozing on and off all night anyway, restless in the knowledge that at the stroke of midnight, her birthday had officially begun—the first one she'd ever spent apart from Tom since they'd been together.

He'd called in the middle of the night, apparently as unable to sleep as she was, and though she hadn't answered the phone, she'd listened to the message approximately sixteen times already. And every time she heard the click of the phone at the end of the message, she nearly gave him and called him back. Of course, this was exactly why she'd run away: she needed to distance herself; she needed to harden her heart so when she inevitably saw him again, she wouldn't let him wear her down with excuses and apologies and promises of "it'll never happen again." She didn't want to live that way; she didn't want to live without that trust.

Already she knew that the day was going to be unbearably long. The kids had fallen asleep early last night after their whirlwind trip, and they were bound to have an excess amount of energy. On top of that, she missed Tom in an acutely painful way. Especially today. Her birthdays had always passed in a rather inconsequential blur before she met Tom, but his exuberance for celebrating (and his apparent unfailing need to make up for every bad or sad or pointless birthday she'd had before) turned them into something she actually looked forward to. Last year he'd taken her ice skating—something she hadn't done since she was about twelve, and back then it hadn't been half as fun as it was skating hand-in-hand with her husband, kissing him in the middle of the rink and screaming in delight when he tried to spin her too fast.

The kids had no concept of time or dates, particularly when they were out of school for the holiday, and they were too young to know her birthday beyond being prompted by their father to make her a card. The fact that this year she'd thrown them out of their element just three days after Christmas certainly wouldn't help. They were hyped up on what they assumed was an adventure, unaware that in the future, the last few days of December would be marked by the tragedy of their parents splitting up. It was horrible timing (it would have been horrible timing no matter what, but she liked the idea of finding something else to try to hate him for).

She was forty-one years old today. Forty-one, on her own, holed up in a crummy motel with her kids and avoiding the only person who could make any of it seem okay because he was the one who had ruined everything.

Life was abysmally unfair.

With a sigh, Lynette rolled over and sat up. The boys had worked out their fight and settled on some cartoon she didn't recognize. Parker gave her a halfhearted, "'Morning, Mommy," but his attention, as well as the twins', was completely fixated on the television. Ignoring this, she got out of bed and picked up Penny from her crib to change her diaper.

"We're gonna be okay, right Penny?" she murmured, instantly feeling bad for laying her insecurities on a two-year-old. The guilt didn't stop her from pulling her baby into her lap and cradling her as a way to get even the slightest comfort. It didn't really help.

Cringing with the purest self-loathing she'd ever felt, Lynette picked up her cell again, flicking it open and resting her finger over the key to replay Tom's message. One more time couldn't hurt. One more time and she'd just delete it forever.

_Lynette, it's me. I know you're ignoring my calls, and I know that I've already left you a dozen messages, but…Well…It's 3:00am, and I can't sleep without you here and I just keep thinking about how it's your birthday. I was planning to take you to the zoo this year because you always say that the best birthday you ever had was the year your parents took you to the zoo, and I thought with the kids…I don't know. It's probably stupid. But I have your gift right here, and I can't stop staring at it and wondering if I'm ever going to get to give it to you. I swear, whatever it is that you think you saw—_

There was a long pause where he took a shuddery breath, and she hated herself just a little for getting emotional every time she listened to the pain in his voice. He had been the one to hurt her, and whatever he was going through now was his own fault. It wasn't fair that she still loved him; it wasn't fair that her heart went out to him again and again.

_No. I really just called to say happy birthday. And I miss you, baby. Please come home. Love you._

She couldn't bring herself to click delete.


	9. The Places Love Hides

**Disclaimer: ** Nothing has changed in 24 hours. It's still not mine.

**A/n: **Number nine is for **Sarah**, who asked for Tom and Lynette in the aftermath of the truth about Tom and Renee coming out (which I wrote about in chapter one). In a way, this is a companion piece to that chapter, as it continues with the assumptions I made about the affair. I can only hope that it turns out this way on the show.

Thank you for reading and especially to those of you who reviewed. Your feedback plays a huge role in motivating my writing. And please continue to request! I have enough to get me through Saturday, so if anyone else has one, I would be more than thrilled to add it to my list. December is a long month.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Nine: The Places Love Hides**

Tom has felt perpetually nauseated for the past week, marred by an unending bout of nerves; a fear that his life is never going to be the same again. He's beginning to wonder when this interminable sickness will end, releasing him from the cruel tenterhooks of nervousness. Anxiety is a paralysis of sorts, he's realized. It holds you captive, afraid to make even the slightest move for fear that your worst nightmares are going to come true.

Perhaps it's not fair that he's waiting for the world to end. Lynette has forgiven him with a magnanimity that is even more far-reaching than he thought possible. Their entire relationship, she's been clear with where her line is, and until a week ago, he never thought she would back down from her conviction. But she'd looked at him and saw his sin and his desperation and his regret and his love, and she was able to absolve him. He doesn't know why, particularly as this is not his first misstep in their marriage.

Norah and Kayla and Atlantic City feels like a distant nightmare now, but dealing with this second betrayal brings it all back to both of them like the ache of an old wound. Tom had vowed then never to keep anything from her again, and he'd been faithful to his word—to an extent. He'd never meant for that promise to be retroactive, but now that the truth has reared its vicious head, he wonders what might have been if he had just confessed then.

Of course, it's all moot. He didn't tell her. Not twenty-one years ago when it happened and not eleven years ago after Atlantic City and not in any of the thousands and thousands of hours they've been together. Maybe that is the worst part, though—that she didn't hear it from him.

He's pretty sure that he shouldn't have been able to have made two such colossal mistakes, and have Lynette stand by him. There isn't a doubt in his mind that he's the luckiest man on earth, and if there is any way to show Lynette that he knows that, he will do it without hesitation every day for the rest of his life. But his word doesn't mean much now; maybe it never will again.

It's the look in her eyes that frightens him the most. There's something dimmer there when she looks at him now—a deep hurt that lingers inside of her. He isn't sure if he's looking at the pain of the woman he betrayed decades ago, or the anguish of the woman who just found out that her husband spent years lying to her. Maybe it's both. And maybe when she looks at him it's the same way—she can see the terrible regret of two different parts of him, past and present. He wants her to know that the only thing he's ever been truly afraid of in his entire life is losing her. That's why he does these stupid, stupid things. That's why he can't stop worrying.

"She says she's in love with you," Lynette had told him. It was after the explanations and apologies and heartbreak; an afterthought. Tom remembers that he never cared less about a person's feelings toward him than he did of Renee's at that moment. "After twenty years…You've only seen each other maybe half a dozen times."

Tom still doesn't know what to make of this announcement. He and Renee spent one ridiculous night together—a night he couldn't regret more if he tried—and Lynette is right: after that their meetings were sparse, spread so far apart and never unchaperoned. Even since she moved into the neighborhood, he's spent most of his time avoiding her. How she possibly thinks she's in love with him is beyond his grasp of understanding. She's called him twice since the truth came out; both times he's hung up on her. If she thinks that there is possibly a choice involved here…

It's Lynette. It has always, always been Lynette.

His wife emerges from the bathroom without looking at him, though his eyes go straight to her, tracking her progress across the room until she climbs into bed next to him and sighs. His heart feels like it's in his throat; he can't quell his worry, and consequently, it spills out of him. He has never been able to restrain himself. "Are you ever going to be able to stop hating me?"

Lynette rolls onto her side, away from him, and then is so still that he thinks it's all the answer he'll ever need. He wants to touch her so badly it hurts. Then, quietly, he hears, "I don't hate you."

"You can," he says. "I mean, you should. Or it's okay if you do. But I need to know—"

"Tom." She cuts him off gently. He's surprised by the fact that she doesn't sound annoyed, but just tired and a little sad. "I don't. I hate myself."

"What?"

"I hate myself." She repeats these words like they're inarguable, but the idea that anyone hates her—especially a self-loathing—makes him feel like he has to do anything he can to protect her. "I hate myself because I feel like a fool. And because I'm afraid. And because ever since I found out, all I'm waiting for is for you to realize that you don't have to stay."

He reaches for her instinctively, pressing himself against her back and draping his arm over her waist possessively. She hardens for a moment, and then relaxes against him. "I feel exactly the same way," he confesses. "I don't deserve you, and I feel like I'm just waiting for you to figure that out."

Lynette brushes tears from her eyes. She looks completely lost. "I realized a long time ago that I only want you."

"So did I. But you didn't have to completely fuck up just to figure that out."

"No, but I almost did. I could have done the same thing as you."

"But you didn't."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure it makes me any better, though."

It dawns on Tom that this could be why she was able to forgive him. It was the same reason he was able to forgive her everything that happened with Rick ages ago. Because he loved her for coming back; for ultimately choosing him; for loving him. And like a startling epiphany, he realizes that she must feel the same way about him now that he felt about her then. He has no idea why that should possibly surprise him, though, after everything they've been through. After twenty years together, how is it that he's constantly rediscovering the magnitude of their love?

Maybe, he thinks cautiously, it's these moments that make their marriage so strong. Maybe if they didn't screw up, if they didn't get these hard reminders of how much they loved one another, they wouldn't be able to appreciate what they had.

"You know, I think we're both really stupid."

Despite everything, Lynette chortles. "Probably," she agrees.

"We love each other."

"More than anything."

Tom smiles, and kisses the soft skin behind her ear. "So maybe we should stop worrying about everything else, and just focus on that."

Lynette rolls onto her back; her hand drifts up to his cheek and for a second she strokes his chin with her thumb. There's a look in her eyes that he hasn't seen in too long, and his heart skips a beat. "I love you."

"I love you too."

He kisses her, then. For the first time in a week, the tension leaves his body, and he knows they're going to be okay.


	10. Rays of Sunlight

**Disclaimer: **It never was and never will be mine.

**A/n: **This one is for **Edna E Mode**, who asked for sappy Bree/Orson set between their first kiss and his proposal. I think this is the first time I've ever written them angst-free, so I hope it's satisfactory.

Thank you to those of you who reviewed. And please, keep requesting!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Ten: Rays of Sunlight**

Bree brushed her hand over her forehead, effectively smearing a smudge of dirt across her brow, and gave a sigh of deep satisfaction. The sound made Orson clench the bag of garbage he'd just picked up and for a minute he stood still, caught up in the sudden idea of her in bed, lying back and making that same contented sound. He allowed himself to go far enough with the fantasy as to picture the elegant manner in which her tresses would fan out over the pillow, and then quelled the thought. It wouldn't do to think such things, at least not here, standing in the middle of her attic with her daughter just downstairs.

"Happy, darling?" he asked, as if it wasn't obvious by the way she glowed. The sun coming through the window caught her hair in such a way that it looked like it was on fire, and Orson was struck, not for the first time, by how exquisitely beautiful she was.

"Mm-hmm. You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this."

She glanced around the room with her hands on her hips; a queen presiding over an impeccable kingdom. Orson had to admit that they'd done a marvelous job. Her attic hadn't been by any means horrendously cluttered, but it obviously hadn't been organized in years. The dust alone was nothing to sneer at, and Orson had tackled it with a combination of dust-rags, cleanser, vacuuming and good old fashioned soap so that it now sparkled like a rare jewel. Bree, meanwhile, could have been a professional organizer for how quickly she went through the boxes and bags and assorted knickknacks that had made their way to the attic over the years. Overall, they'd spent most of the weekend up here, and Orson couldn't think of a possible better use of their time. Especially seeing her so happy now that they were finished.

"I'm surprised you waited so long."

"It wasn't exactly a one person job," she said, her voice caught between wit and annoyance. She sank down onto an old sofa that Orson hadn't been able to convince her to remove and flashed him a humorless smile. "Rex always had more important things to do on the weekend."

Orson bit back a retort—it seemed unkind to tarnish the name of the deceased—and set down the garbage bag, joining her on the couch. They sat, legs touching, and Orson wrapped his arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head against his chest. "Anyway, it's done now," she stated in her most practical voice. Her sensibility made Orson's heart flutter in the most horribly pleasant manner. "And I'm glad you were here. I've never met anyone else who appreciates a good spring cleaning."

"Wiping away the scourge of winter. What's not to love?"

"Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty."

Bree turned her head up for a kiss and he gladly complied. She tasted of strawberries and sunshine. "Maybe next weekend we can wash all the walls," he murmured against her lips; she grinned. "The ceilings too."

"Oh Orson."

Urged on by the thrill that ran from his head all the way down to his toes, Orson shifted so she lay on her back, draping his body over hers and pressing kisses all along her jaw. She let out a little moan that sent shivers up and down his spine, but after a moment of indulging him, she gave a little cough. "Wait. Orson, we can't."

They very well could, he wanted to point out, but he didn't. If there was anything he prided himself on it was his self-control, and he admired the quality even more in Bree. There was nothing more sensual than a woman who could hold herself back, because in Orson's experience, it was only better when she finally let herself go free. When the time finally came—and it would come—the smoldering heat between them would erupt into the most passionate flames. On that day, every unindulged moment would be worth tenfold what it would have been had they given into their baser urges.

He gave her one last peck and then rolled off of her, sitting back up. She smiled, and then set her feet in his lap, wriggling her toes in a most uninhibited manner. "You know," he said genially, "I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with you."

Bree smiled. Not just a smile, but one that radiated through her whole body, shining out like sunlight from inside of her. Orson thought that he could go the rest of his life and never tire of seeing her smile that way. "I love you too."

All-in-all, it was the perfect way to spend the weekend.


	11. Drama Queens

**Disclaimer: **It's absolutely not mine. I swear.

**A/n: **This one is for my friend Jen, who very generously reads everything I write and doesn't complain about my incessant jabbering about this show. She asked for a scene with Bree and Lynette being snarky, and that morphed into this. There is some snark, I promise, but it definitely transformed a bit along the way.

Thank you to those of you who requested things in the past few days. I'm really looking forward to writing them out.

And thank you to those of you who read and especially to those who review. I'm so grateful for the feedback.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Eleven: Drama Queens**

Lynette had been watching the little boy and girl out of her kitchen window for nearly ten minutes, not really seeing them, just staring at them as her mind wandered aimlessly. The reason she and Tom had moved to the suburbs was so they'd have a nice place to raise their children, but that had been an abstract concept up until they'd actually moved in. Constantly seeing children running amok on the street brought home the reality that she'd have two of her own in just seven short months. Before long, they would be the ones running around the neighborhood, playing outside.

Digging a giant hole in the middle of the yard.

She did a double take as she finally noticed what the kids were up to, and before she thought it through, she hurried outside with a loud, "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Both children looked up at her, startled, and the boy promptly dropped the small trowel he'd been using and scampered away. Abandoned, the girl froze like a deer in the headlights, sniffled, and began to cry.

_Fantastic_, Lynette thought bitterly. _Absolutely fantastic._

"Oh, look, hey," she mumbled, taking a step toward the girl and then pausing. It had been a long time since she'd dealt with children; not since she'd been a child herself. She was at a bit of a loss. "I'm not mad."

"You're gonna tell my mommy!"

Lynette shrugged. That was probably true. "Why are you digging a hole in my back yard?"

The girl wiped her eyes with her shirt, took a deep breath, and held out her hand. Lying on her palm was the broken remains of what appeared to be a crystal lion. Its decapitated head rolled over her little fingers and fell to the ground. "Andrew promised Mommy wouldn't find out if we buried it here. She'd know if we did it at our house."

"Ooh," sighed Lynette knowingly. The pieces were falling into place. Bree talked nearly incessantly about her children, though Lynette hadn't yet met them. From everything she'd heard, though, Andrew running away like a selfish squirrel seemed right on point. "You're Bree's little girl."

"Are you gonna tell on me?"

"Tell on you? No. But I'll help you talk to your mom if you want."

Danielle bent to pick up the lion's head and tucked both pieces of the crystal into the front pocket of her overalls. "She's gonna be mad."

Lynette held out her hand (not quite sure that it was the right thing to do, but just following instinct) and took a firm grasp of Danielle's. She didn't know what to say; Danielle was walking as though she was on the way to a death sentencing—head hung, feet dragging. But it was obviously a dread of punishment, not a genuine fear, and Lynette almost smiled as she led Danielle across the street.

When Bree answered the door to find her new neighbor and teary-eyed daughter standing on the step, she blanched for just a moment before regaining her composure. Danielle and Andrew had gone out to play over an hour ago; she could only imagine what had transpired between then and now. Nothing good, judging by the amount of dirt caked on Danielle's clothes.

"Danielle," she gasped, "what happened to your clothes?"

Her daughter hung her head and let out a quiet sob, and Bree turned to Lynette, torn between asking for an explanation and shutting her out of whatever embarrassing incident had transpired. Unfortunately, Lynette was already involved.

"Stop that, young lady."

Lynette raised an eyebrow, surprised by Bree's lack of sympathy, but unexpectedly, Danielle raised her head and let out a huffy sigh. She had the sudden, unnerving thought that she'd been played by a seven-year-old.

"Now what happened?"

Danielle reached into her pocket and pulled out the remains of the lion. "I just wanted to play with it, but Andrew was being mean and he hit me with a pillow and we broke it. Andrew said we should bury it so you wouldn't know."

"I have told you a hundred times not to touch my things, young lady. Where is your brother hiding?"

Danielle shrugged. "He ran away when we got caught."

Bree took this news in stride—Andrew would turn up around dinnertime if she knew him at all—and reached to tug Danielle into the house. "Upstairs now. Clean up and then wait for me in your room."

Stomping the whole way across the foyer and up the stairs, Danielle disappeared from view. In her wake, Lynette and Bree stared at one another somewhat awkwardly. In the month since Lynette had moved in across the street, they hadn't been fast friends: Bree was rather off-put by Lynette's unending frankness and Lynette was unsure about someone whose smile seemed permanently plastered to her face. Lynette was on the verge of turning away when Bree's manners got the better of her and she said, rather stiffly, "Do you want to come in?"

Lynette hesitated for a moment, but considering the fact this woman very well could live across the street for the next twenty years, gave in. It wouldn't hurt to try. "Alright."

She followed Bree inside, glancing around the immaculate house curiously, and then sat down on the edge of a rather prim couch. In a hundred years, she would have never guessed that two small children lived there. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No thanks." She'd had a rather bad bout of what was shaping up to be never-ending-morning sickness only an hour earlier, and just the thought of drinking something made her queasy. "You have a beautiful home."

"Thank you."

Silence descended, Lynette glanced around, hoping to find something that would inspire conversation. Bree did a little bit better, falling back on good social graces. "So, Mary Alice told me that you had dinner with her and Paul the other night."

"Oh yeah." Lynette gave a rather undignified laugh, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to. "That Paul's a little bit off, right?"

Bree gawked at her with bald awe—what kind of person said those kinds of things to someone she barely knew?—and Lynette wilted a little disheartened. Against her better judgment, Bree tittered and nodded encouragingly. "He is a little odd, yes."

"Tom couldn't stand him. I feel bad. Mary Alice seems nice."

"Everyone has a burden to bear. Ours is putting up with Paul for the sake of Mary Alice."

Lynette laughed, and Bree smiled, warming up a bit. "You know who's really intolerable?"

"Mrs. McCluskey?"

"No. Karl Mayer. He's always making these crude jokes." Bree shuddered. "So distasteful."

"Yeah. No one likes that."

Bree paused, unsure about whether she was being mocked, but decided that even if she was, it might not be callously. "I've been meaning to invite you and Tom over for dinner. Once you get settled in."

"Oh, yeah. We'd love to. We're not ones to pass up free meals." Bree seemed to falter at this, and Lynette wasn't sure that she could tell that she genuinely appreciated the offer. She wasn't used to living somewhere where the neighbors were so openly welcoming. Trying to smooth over her tendency toward sarcasm, she added, "And maybe you can tell me how you knew Danielle was faking the crying. I fell for it hook, line and sinker."

"Oh that's just Danielle. Don't feel bad. She's a rather dramatic child."

Lynette nodded, but the ease of Danielle's deceptiveness felt foreign to her. She'd grown up in an environment that was absolutely blunt, and the quality had been ingrained into her from a young age. Now she was struck with the sudden fear that her own children could turn out precisely like Danielle and she wouldn't have the instinct to spot it.

"Don't worry," said Bree, reading the stress in Lynette's face. "It's different with your own kids. You'll see."

"Yeah? I'm not so sure."

Bree smiled. She could remember all too well how strangely terrified and excited she'd been all at once when pregnant with Andrew. There was nothing she could say or do that would ease that ambivalence for Lynette.

"Mama?"

The small voice came from upstairs, drifting down like a whisper of cautious hope. Bree rolled her eyes and sighed. "Did I tell you that you could leave your room?" she called.

From above them, there was a scamper of feet and then a door slammed. Lynette laughed, taken with Bree's obviously accurate description of Danielle's flair for theatrics. "Does she come by that naturally?"

"Yes," said Bree unflinchingly. "It's Rex through and through."

And with the easy laughter that ensued, both women knew that they were suddenly (perhaps inexplicably) friends.


	12. Christmas With All the Trimmings

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Does not belong to me.

**A/n: **This is another one for **Edna E Mode**, who asked for a Christmas story where Edie has to take care of Mrs. McCluskey when she's sick. This takes place during season 4, after the tornado. There is some mild dirty language in this one (those two just can't help themselves).

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twelve: Christmas With All the Trimmings**

Edie supposed that she could have just said no when Lynette had basically ordered her to do this, but it hadn't seemed like a feasible course of action at the time. Lynette had been running around rather crazily trying to pack things—_We can't have Christmas here this year…not with the house still an absolute mess and the kids practically acting like maniacs—_and the kids, already on Christmas break, had been screaming and running around, and Edie really hadn't been able to think straight.

"She's an old lady, alone on Christmas," Lynette had said (almost barked). "Don't you think it's the least we can do."

It was a generous use of the word "we" in Edie's opinion.

But she'd agreed, and planned to welcome Karen McCluskey into her home on Christmas with the full expectation that it would be horrible. Then, the night before, she'd gotten a crotchety phone call filled with a lot of bitching and coughing that ended with, "So thanks for the offer, but I'm just going to stay home and hope not to die." And maybe it was the callous disregard of the fact that Edie had actually gone to some effort to make that Christmas not completely horrible (tequila, margarita mix and a fabulous homemade chicken pot pie), or maybe it was the idea of an old lady sick and alone, or maybe it was the fact that she was supposed to have Travers this Christmas and he had outright told her that he didn't want to come, but Edie found herself packing everything up and hiking over to Ida Greenberg's old house (where McCluskey was still camping out).

"Edie. You're…here."

Edie ignored this greeting; she'd had worse. "Yep," she said, digging into the bag she held and pulling out a box filled to the brim with various medicines. "Something in here should make you feel better."

"I doubt that." McCluskey leaned over and peeked into the bag. "Well, maybe this," she amended, pulling out the bottle of tequila and heading back inside. "I should've figured you'd be good for something. Come in."

Scowling, Edie followed her inside and cringed. The house smelled like too much cleanser, cats, old people and death—just as Martha's used to. It was an unpleasant reminder of her old friend, and Edie found herself wishing that she'd gone to her sister's place instead. "Are you even sick?" she shouted as McCluskey disappeared into the kitchen.

"Nasty virus. Thing comes every winter."

"Yeah, sure," muttered Edie. She sat down on the couch, frowning at the various knickknacks that cluttered the space. Ida certainly had had the tackiest taste; Edie thought she might be sick too if she had to live there. "When are they going to be done with your house?"

McCluskey puttered back into the living room, two glasses and the bottle still in hand. Edie thought about pulling out the margarita mix, but decided that if McCluskey was cool with straight shots then she was too. "Not for a couple months. Won't go as fast as yours did a few years back. I can't flash 'em my tits and get the same result as you."

Edie, who had just swigged back the entire contents of the glass, choked and spit out nearly half of what she'd just taken in. "Mrs. McCluskey!"

"Oh jeez. Don't tell me you're all sensitive like the other broads on this street." She waved a hand in the direction of Edie's breasts. "It's not like you make an effort to hide them."

"Yeah, yeah. Get your digs in. Everyone else does." Edie rolled her eyes and poured herself another drink. "I'll excuse you since you're clearly inches from death."

"Don't do me any favors." Karen downed her first drink, smacking her lips as she finished. "You know, we're the only two stupid or desperate enough to stick around this war zone for Christmas."

That was true. Lynette hadn't been the only one to run away to a relative's this Christmas; the street was pretty much deserted.

"So why didn't you hightail it out of there like the rest of them?"

Edie shrugged. Going to Carly's had the appeal of family, but she knew that it would hurt more than she cared to admit to see her sister with her kids and know that she wasn't going to see her son. Being alone and drinking away her misery seemed like a more practical way to handle things. "Nothing better to do, I guess. And you know, Lynette basically begged me to hang around and look after you."

"Busybody."

"Isn't everyone?"

McCluskey snorted. "On this street? Yeah."

"I'll drink to that." Edie grinned and poured them both another shot of tequila, tipping her glass to McCluskey before throwing back the liquor. It burned wonderfully on the way down. "Ah. Merry fucking Christmas."

"And a happy new year."


	13. A Long, Hot Bath

**Disclaimer: **Nothing has changed in the past 24 hours.

**A/n: **This is another one for **CharadesNinja, **who asked for a fic dealing with Lynette having postpartum depression after the birth of one of her kids. It took me awhile to figure out how to tackle this, and I'm not sure it's entirely what would be expected, but I think it still works. Takes place in season seven between "You Must Meet My Wife" and "Truly Content." I hope you all enjoy!

As far as requests go, I'm down to the final six. First come, first serve, so if you have something else in mind, please let me know. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Thirteen: A Long, Hot Bath**

Tom wasn't really sure how taking a long, hot bath was supposed to help him, but Lynette had a lot of good-smelling bath stuff (he hadn't been able to pick one product and ended up mixing them together; the results were interesting to say the least), and lying there he did feel slightly more relaxed. Of course, tension wasn't really the heart of the problem, and Tom was hard-pressed to figure out exactly what would improve this feeling. He supposed he could go back to therapy, but he was somewhat soured on the idea. It felt like it had been a temporary salve; since Paige was born, every melancholy feeling had returned tenfold, and he had his doubts that going back would change anything.

The truth was that he could barely articulate how he felt. He and Lynette had talked the other night for hours, but the most he'd been able to reveal was how scared he was. Scared of how he had almost lost the baby, scared of starting all over again with a newborn; scared that he wasn't being strong enough for the family. Really, though, it was so much more than that. Worries about money and if he was around enough; a listless feeling that secretly it didn't matter if he was there or not; a sense of dread that something was going to happen and he wouldn't be able to stop it. And underlying all of this was a sadness so heavy that he didn't think he'd ever find the energy to fight all of these emotions.

Certainly one bath wasn't going to rectify the situation.

The bathroom door opened and Lynette walked in, the baby in her arms. Tom mustered the hint of a smile, but Lynette barely seemed to notice. In that casually intrusive manner she had, she sat down on the rim of the tub across from him, haphazardly rolling up her pants before leaning back against the wall and sticking her feet in the water. Paige sat on her lap, watching all of this with strange fascination.

"You've been in here for almost an hour."

"Really? Doesn't feel like it."

"You missed dinner."

Tom shrugged. He wasn't hungry anyway. His indifference, however, seemed lost on Lynette. "So are you just going to stay in here all night?" she asked, and he realized there was haughtiness behind what had seemed to be innocuous questions thus far. "Is that what's going to make you feel better? Because I'll tell you right now, if that's the answer to this, then you're welcome to soak in here until you've shriveled up like a prune."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I'm just annoyed. You're in here soaking for an hour and I haven't had more than a two minute shower in three days. And on top of that, I had to cook dinner by myself, help Penny with her math homework and start another load of laundry."

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" he asked irritably. "Because it's working. And that's the last thing I need right now."

Lynette rolled her eyes. "And I need you to do something about this. I'm not going to act like what you're feeling isn't real or significant, but this can't be one of those times where you walk around moody for months until you finally find some reason to be happy again. You need to snap out of it."

"You don't understand what this is like for me," he muttered, genuinely annoyed now. He opened his mouth, ready to launch into a diatribe that would more or less turn those guilty feelings right back on her, when she held up a hand—anticipating him like always—and said, "Don't."

The word came out in a deadly tone, and Tom felt his stomach drop to his feet. His wife was looking at him with an icy fire in her eyes, and he realized that he had been mistaken about her being angry before. That annoyance now seemed like child's play compared to how pissed off she looked. Quickly, he tried to backtrack. "Lynette, I didn't—"

"Do you remember how things were after Penny was born? I was popping pills and fantasizing about blowing my brains out. Or did that just happen to slip your mind?"

It had and hadn't, an inexplicable phenomenon that Tom couldn't explain. He hadn't thought about it in any sort of specific way since he'd started to feel this way, but had it lurked in the back of his mind when Lynette was first struggling with the pregnancy?—Of course. Could he replay that moment when she'd told him the truth, word-for-word, as though it had been permanently burned into his brain?—Absolutely. For the first time, he realized that she knew exactly what he was feeling, perhaps tenfold, and he was torn between anxiousness and eagerness. Slowly, he sat up, leaning forward and grasping her knees. The water soaked through the denim of her jeans, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

"I know what it's like to feel lost and alone and depressed," she said, her voice still soaked in venom, "and to have a whole group of people completely dependant on you at the same time. Don't act like I'm some unfeeling bitch who doesn't know what you're going through. I'm upset because I'm worried about you."

"Honey—"

"It took me eleven months to admit something was wrong, and look what happened. I don't want to see the same thing happen to you. I don't want that to happen to me again. I need you." She glanced down at Paige, and then with a sudden decisiveness, held out their daughter to him. Surprised, Tom took the baby, holding her high on his chest to keep her from getting completely soaked.

"She needs you too," said Lynette, something choking her voice. "And so do our other four kids. So do something about this or snap out of it, but don't expect to just sit around and think it's going to magically get better. That's not how it works. And I'm not going to just stand by and watch you disappear. I love you too much."

Still angry, almost fighting tears at that point, Lynette stepped out of the tub and stormed out of the room without bothering to dry her feet. Tom remained still, in some sort of daze before he sat back in the tub again, minding the baby.


	14. Almost Another First Date

**Disclaimer: **I promise I am not doing this for gain. It's all for fun.

**A/n: **This is another one for **CharadesNinja**, who requested a story about Tom recreating his and Lynette's first date. It turned out pretty fluffy, which is a nice break from the angst (at least for me). This takes place during the five year jump (June 2013 to be specific to my timeline).

Please continue to read and review (and request!). This is making these last couple of weeks before my holiday break just fly by, and I'm greatly enjoying it.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Fourteen: Almost Another First Date**

Tom had learned the hard way that surprising Lynette was a tricky business. It wasn't as simple as hinting that he had something planned, or asking her to get in the car and let him blindly lead her somewhere, or telling her not to look in the upper left corner of his desk drawer because he had a present hidden away. She just couldn't stop herself from poking around and trying to figure out what was up. Logically, the only solution seemed to be to flat-out lie to her, but since he was a terrible liar, even that had its faults.

In the end, he ended up compromising.

"Let's go out to dinner," he suggested casually. Not a lie—they were going to dinner—but not the entire truth either. He had so much more planned; a need to make this night special that Lynette was entirely unaware of.

"The kids—"

"Can order a pizza. Come on. When was the last time we went out to dinner just the two of us?"

A few well-placed kisses later, and she didn't put up any further arguments.

Tom spent most of the car ride trying to distract her from asking questions about their destination. It was easy to keep her unfocused—a few well placed questions about her sister's fiancé and Lynette was off on a tangent that could have lasted hours. Fortunately, his plans would undoubtedly drive all thoughts of her family from her mind, and everything would be perfect.

He continued this reassuring line of thought until he pulled into the parking lot, looking for the familiar lights of a restaurant only to be met with the harsh window display of a shoe store. For a second, he actually thought he had forgotten where he was going, but as Lynette frowned and said, "This isn't a restaurant anymore, remember?" he realized that he wasn't mistaken.

Of course, the one time he wanted to be wrong…

"What are you talking about?"

"Marley's Tavern. That place closed three years ago, remember? We were going to go there for our anniversary." Lynette looked at him curiously. "You were so upset that you said you'd never eat pork chops again. Of course, that only lasted three weeks…"

"I…I forgot," he admitted, baffled. Even now, as she talked about it, the memory was hazy at best. Discouraged, the best he could manage was to give her a weak smile. "I don't know where my head is."

"Oh, sweetie. It was a nice thought." She reached out and squeezed his forearm. "And in another three years maybe we can do it again."

Tom, not seeing the humor of the situation, heaved a great sigh and laid his head on the steering wheel. This was not how this night was supposed to go. They were supposed to be recapturing that spark; they were supposed to be remembering how exciting things had been when they first met. He'd had a plan.

"You know, we can still have sex tonight if that's what you're worried about."

Lynette's hand rubbed over his shoulder to his back, and wearily Tom lifted his head to look at her. Apparently his lack of amusement was obvious, because she was looking at him now with concern. "Okay, what's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted tonight to be perfect."

"Why?"

"You know."

"No, I really don't."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, steeling himself to blurt out the truth. He'd kind of hoped tonight would speak for him so he wouldn't have to bring up this particular point again. What did it matter if they fought at this point though—the night was already a bust. "Er, well, I wanted to make up for our anniversary."

"Ooh."

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom glanced at her. Lynette wore a quirky little smile—the one she had whenever she was trying not to laugh at him. It had the unique effect of annoying him and making him feel better at the same time. "What?"

"Our anniversary was three months ago."

"I know!"

Chuckling, Lynette held up her hands as if to deflect his anger. "Whoa. Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you forgot. Don't need to have that fight again."

"I got you a present."

"Yes, handing me a box of chocolates before you hunkered down on the computer for the whole day was very romantic." She rolled her eyes affectionately. "I'm just surprised. I mean, why wait three months?"

"Well I figured—I thought…since I kind of messed up on our actual anniversary, maybe we should celebrate a different one instead. And our first date was seventeen years ago today."

Lynette nodded, her smirk fading into genuine appreciation as the full extent of what he'd been trying to do sank into place. "You were trying to recreate it."

"It was stupid."

"No. It was sweet." She unbuckled her seatbelt and slowly shifted so she could lean in and kiss his cheek. Anticipating her movement, Tom turned at the last second and their lips met instead. Lynette gasped a started, "Oh!" before relaxing against him. For the next several minutes, Tom couldn't remember why the night had seemed remotely unsuccessful; the way Lynette's lips and tongue moved against his more than exceeded his expectations. When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dancing. "Well that was fun," she said, the teasing tone returning to her voice. "We should do it again sometime."

"Very funny."

"What? You said you wanted to recreate our first date."

Ignoring her delighted peal of laughter, Tom reached out for her, tugging at her until she crawled over and settled firmly in his lap. "Tom," she giggled as he started to nip at her neck. "I think we're moving too fast. I mean, I barely know you. What if this gets out around work?"

His hand wriggled up her shirt, squeezing her breast before he switched tactics and gently ran a finger over the edge of her bra. The contrast of the lace and her skin was strangely enticing. "No one's going to find out," he mumbled against her clavicle. One of her hands worked its way into his hair and she pulled him closer, weakening her protests.

"I'll be branded a slut. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Don't care, as long as you're my slut."

She pulled back from him, her eyes dark with lust, but she put a hand to her heart as though she was scandalized. "Well if you think I'm sleeping with you after a comment like that, you've got another thing coming."

Tom scraped his fingernail over her nipple, grinning as she hissed. "You know, Miss Lindquist," he said, slipping his hand down from her chest to her thigh. Slowly, he started to stroke her skin, inching his way up her skirt. "I think you're lying. I think you like the dirty talk. In fact, I think you're completely turned on right now."

"You don't know anything about me."

"No?" He reached her panties, running his finger over her with just the slightest pressure. Her eyes fluttered shut, and involuntarily, she moved against him. "I bet I can make you scream using just my fingers."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Lynette leaned down, her lips a breath away from his. Tom's heart was pounding. "Prove it."

He went on to do just that.


	15. The Party

**Disclaimer: **I promise, this isn't mine.

**A/n: **Number fifteen is for **SydneeeyGrant**, who asked for Gaby and Carlos's first New Year's together. This takes place pre-series (probably around NYE 2002). I hope you enjoy!

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Fifteen: The Party**

"We're only staying an hour," said Carlos firmly, as if Gaby had protested that they stay all night. She hadn't made that argument (yet), and was only planning to fight him later depending on the level of lameness of this party. On one hand, it was a party at Susan's house (Gaby was pretty sure this was the excitement equivalent of going to the dentist); on the other hand, she and Carlos were supposed to ditch this party early for one at his boss' house. And Carlos's boss was an asshole. So this, really, was going to come down to the lesser of two evils.

She really hoped Susan's party was better than she expected.

"We go in, we make a little small talk, have a glass of champagne and that's all."

"Will you relax? This is the suburbs. These people will probably all be in bed by ten anyway."

Ignoring her joke, Carlos plowed on as if she hadn't spoken. "I don't know why you insisted we had to go to this party anyway."

"You're the one who kept telling me I should be friends with them."

"It doesn't mean I have to be."

With some effort, Gaby managed not to point out the hypocrisy of this statement, in large part due to the fact that they were now standing on Susan's front stoop. She knocked on the door before Carlos could make another proclamation, putting on her million dollar smile when Karl opened the door. Gaby barely managed to say hello when Susan shoved Karl aside, reaching out to grab Gaby's hands and pull her into the house. "Oh you're here!" she squealed like an excitable child. "You're here! You're here!"

"Susie broke out the alcohol a little early tonight," said Karl, taking Carlos's coat. "Come on, Susan, give her room to breathe."

Susan clapped her hands together, her enthusiasm not waning, though she did back away far enough to let Gaby take off her coat. "God, your dress is gorgeous," she gushed, accepting Gaby's coat and then unceremoniously tossing it at Karl. Gaby gave a little spin—she was to die for in red silk—but Karl snorted distastefully.

"A little formal, aren't you?"

For the first time, Gaby noticed that Karl and Susan were both dressed down—Susan in a simple black skirt and a strangely shimmering tank top, and Karl in khakis and a button down shirt. Gaby, in her dress, and Carlos (even more absurdly) in a tux, seemed wildly overdressed. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a comment about the swanky parties in New York, when Carlos pointed out something much more alarming. "Are we early?"

"No. Right on time."

The words took a second to sink in. The house was deserted, strangely silent except for the four souls in the kitchen. For one wild moment, Gaby actually thought that the other guests were just in some shell-shocked quiet of utter boredom, but then the truth seemed to dawn like a horrible reality. "Are we the only ones coming?"

"Yeah," said Susan, as if this was obvious. "Rex and Bree always go to some big party at the club, and Tom and Lynette are busy doing…something. Usually Karl and I just have a quiet night in, but we figured since you're new in town, we'd have you over. Perfect right? Now we both have something to do!"

Carlos and Gaby exchanged a look that seemed lost on Susan, but judging by Karl's smirk, he knew exactly what was going on. "I think you two need some alcohol."

"God, yes," said Gaby while Carlos just nodded dumbly. Susan gave a little start, adding that she needed another drink as well, and scurried off to the living room after Karl. Gaby was fairly certain they were supposed to follow their neighbors, but the second they were out of earshot, Carlos turned to her, aghast. "What are we going to do?"

"Go in there and get drunk?"

"Gaby!"

"What? We can't just leave! We're their only guests. Even drunk Susan is going to notice if we disappear."

"You told me the whole neighborhood was going to be here."

"Yeah, well, Susan invited us all at once. How was I supposed to know Lynette and Bree were going to beg off?"

Carlos gestured ferociously, as if Susan's kitchen alone should have been an indication of why she should have known. Gaby just scowled. "You know, I bet Tom and Lynette are over there right now. You heard Susan—they probably don't even have other plans."

"Bastards."

"We just have to face it," said Gaby bitterly. "We're screwed."

"Hey guys!" called Susan from the living room. "Get in here! We have Pictionary!"

"That's it," said Carlos, turning to bolt. Gaby grabbed his hand and held him firmly in place.

"You're not leaving me alone to ring in the new year with them!" she hissed, pulling him firmly toward the living room. "We're suffering together!"

"Gaby—"

"Ooh!" shouted Susan. "Or we could play charades!"

Gaby halted. "Okay, would it really be so bad if we left?"

Carlos sighed, shaking his head. "Yes. It would be really bad."

"Can we do it anyway?"

Briefly, Carlos looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of this, but eventually he gave a huffy groan and took her hand again. "No."

"Fine."

"But maybe you're right. Maybe they really will fall asleep at ten."

Gaby smiled sardonically, and leaned up to kiss Carlos's cheek. "Gee, darling, you sure know how to cheer a girl up."

"Happy new year, baby."

Gaby nodded firmly. "Let's go get drunk."


	16. Fireworks in the Rain

**Disclaimer: **It isn't mine!

**A/n: **This is for **Rebecca**, who asked for a fic about Tom and Lynette's first kiss. I've written a couple different versions of their first kiss already, but this is another take on it that I've had in my head for quite awhile. I'm glad I finally had the chance to tackle it.

This picks up after chapter three in my story "Midnight at the Airport," but you really don't have to read that to understand this one.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed lately! And please keep requesting. I'm down to my final five, and I would be very excited if I actually made it to the 24th like I originally planned. Please know that I really appreciate all of you who have requested something already. Thank you!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Sixteen: Fireworks in the Rain**

"We should just share a cab," Tom suggested as Lynette wrestled with her suitcase. One of the wheels had been damaged en route and she was stubbornly tugging at it and wrenching it along as though it would cave in and go back to working. He had the distinct feeling that she would keep at it until this happened, and though completely unfeasible, if anyone was going to win an argument with an inanimate object, it would be her. "Here," he said, reaching out and for the handle of her suitcase. His hand brushed hers as he did so and she shot back as though she'd been burned, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. Remembering their near kiss earlier, Tom couldn't decide if this was the reaction he was hoping for or not.

"Thanks," said Lynette smoothly. Tom picked up the bag and hoisted it on top of his own suitcase, attempting to make this maneuver look effortless (it wasn't). If Lynette noticed this, though, she hid it well.

Outside, a warm summer rain was falling like a mist and people were running to and fro in a rather chaotic fashion. Lynette seemed unperturbed by the weather, however, and walked calmly out from under the overhang to one of the few cabs that hadn't been claimed. Spotting them, the driver scrambled out of the car, but he was as anxious to get out of the rain as everyone else and attacked the bags with an overenthusiastic ferocity. Tom and Lynette, meanwhile, scooted into the cab as though they were in absolutely no hurry.

"Miserable weather," the can driver grunted as he got back into the car. Lynette gave an ambiguous hum in response—really, as far as rain went, it was downright pleasant—but the cabbie seemed to take it as agreement, as his voice was much more cheerful when he asked for an address.

"I really wish we didn't have to work tomorrow."

Lynette groaned—he'd never heard her react so negatively to work before—and shook her head. "I don't want to think about it. Let's talk about anything else."

Instinctively, Tom fought his initial urge to comment on her hair (which the rain had caused to frizz, forming a strangely beautiful sort of halo around her head), but the hesitation led to a slightly awkward pause. Lynette fiddled with the ring on her right hand, opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped as though she too were at a loss. Desperate to end the silence, Tom blurted out, "Do you like fireworks?"

Lynette stared at him. Embarrassed, he held the gaze uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah," she finally said. "I guess."

"Fourth of July is next week."

"Yeah…"

"Well…" Tom took a deep breath. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out—he'd had no plans to go see any fireworks show, though now that he thought about it, it would be rather romantic—but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Earlier, waiting in the Tulsa airport for their flight, he'd been quite sure that she would have let him kiss her. He'd wanted to; he still wanted to. But some little voice in the back of his head was obnoxiously reminding him that she _hadn't_ let him kiss her, and, in fact, had jumped away from him as though she'd been close to making a mistake.

Was he really going to embarrass himself twice in the same night?

Lynette seemed unaware of his internal debate. "When I was a kid we used to be able to see them from the house. We'd sit in the front yard and you could just make them out from the park a few blocks away."

An odd tension settled in Tom's chest; he wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment. "We used to go to my aunt Marie's for a barbeque and then walk over to the park to watch. Actually, it was kind of boring."

Lynette chuckled, subtly shifting in her seat. Tom thought that she was maybe an inch closer, and the change in proximity encouraged his babbling. "My brother and sister were teenagers when I was born, and any of the cousins that were close to my age were on my mom's side. So it was basically just me and the adults."

To his surprise, a smirk toyed at the corners of Lynette's mouth. Unfortunately, it drew his attention right to her lips, and he froze. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

"You must have been spoiled rotten," she said teasingly. "Being the baby of the family."

With effort, Tom tore his eyes away from her mouth. "Oh let me guess. You're an oldest child."

Lynette shrugged indifferently (he thought maybe she shifted another inch toward him too), and Tom pointed at her accusingly. "Of course you are. It's all clear now. The bossiness, the know-it-all attitude—"

Playfully (and without thinking it through, he assumed), Lynette reached out and wrapped her hand around his critical finger. "Maybe I do know it all," she said quietly, the laughter slowly leaving her voice. "You ever think of that?"

"Oh really?"

Lynette nodded, unconsciously leaning toward him. "The bossiness is just an added bonus."

"So you're counting that among your good qualities?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Tom grinned, fairly positive that she didn't have any _bad _qualities. Lynette didn't seem to be reading his thoughts, though. "If you knew what was really wrong with me, you wouldn't see the bossiness as a problem at all."

Despite how lightly she said the words, something contrary flashed in her eyes, there and gone so fast that Tom thought maybe he imagined it. He didn't have the mental capabilities to worry about it, at any rate; she was still holding his finger (the most aware he'd ever been of that particular appendage), and she'd scooted even closer to him, and now her tongue darted out for the briefest second to wet her lips…

Tom didn't think about it; he didn't even hesitate. Gently, he reached out his hand, cupping her cheek, giving himself a moment to take in the look of surprise and hope and fear on her face, and then leaned toward her. Lynette gave a little gasp, their lips met, and the world was alight with fireworks.


	17. Saying Goodbye to No One Special

**Disclaimer: **Oh I promise that nothing has changed in the last twenty-four hours.

**A/n: **This one is for **K**, who asked for Bree/Katherine. Definitely a challenge for me as I neither ship them, nor do I write pairings that aren't canon on the show. But I worked around that and I think (hope) that this works. Takes place in season six, right before Katherine and Robin leave for Paris.

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! And please let me know if you have another request!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Seventeen: Saying Goodbye to No One Special**

Katherine had never been able to find the words to express how she felt about Bree. They'd been enemies and then friends and then sisters, but beneath all of those labels, there was something else that Katherine just couldn't identify. Some mysterious, terrifying, exciting…nameless feeling. Thinking about it too long or too hard made Katherine queasy, so most of the time she ignored it. She let it sneak up on her, knocking the wind out of her for a moment, before pushing it away because it wasn't…

It wasn't…

The feeling came at the most random moments. When Bree straightened up and shook her head in that pretentious manner of hers. The day the air conditioning broke in the kitchen, and by the end of the afternoon, Bree's cheeks were flush with color and there was just the slightest sheen of sweat on her chest. That morning she found Bree hungover—off the wagon—and hugged her close enough that she could smell the scent of her shampoo. A hundred little moments like that existed in her memory, stowed away to never be seen, not even in her dreams because she didn't want to admit the truth. She didn't want to admit…what? That she was attracted to Bree? It was ludicrous; improbable; insane.

But she was with Robin now, and that was also ridiculous. It was ridiculous that she was about to run off to Paris without thinking it through. Ridiculous that she was leaving her entire life behind.

Where did loving Bree fall on the scale compared to that?

Sighing, Katherine raised her hand and knocked on the door. She wanted to turn around and wave to Robin, who was waiting in the car; she wanted that reassuring smile to remind her that Robin was her choice—and the right one. She wanted a reason to turn around and flee from this last moment to say…something.

Bree opened the door.

"Don't say anything," said Katherine. The words spilled from her lips without thought, her brain strangely absent as she looked into Bree's eyes and felt that inexplicable tug that she'd been aware of for longer than she wanted to admit. "I'm leaving. Robin and I are leaving. But before I go, I just wanted to say…"

She couldn't say anything.

"You're leaving?"

Katherine nodded.

"But…why? I don't understand."

"Neither do I." She whispered the words, pondering the unending strangeness of her life. She wanted to tell Bree that if she didn't leave, she'd be forever trapped to the ghosts that constantly threatened to drag her down to the depths of hell, but that was only partly the truth. She sighed. "I'm tired of being scared."

"You're one of the bravest persons I know."

Katherine's heart leapt to her throat, sticking there in a sickly fashion. This was it. The moment. This was everything. Slowly, she leaned forward, cupping Bree's cheek and kissing her. It was just the lightest pressure, only lasting a moment, innocent as two friends saying goodbye.

It only had to mean more to Katherine. She knew that it only did mean more to her.

"Goodbye, Bree."

Bree didn't say anything, and Katherine was glad. She turned and walked to the car.


	18. An Unusual Christmas Part One

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/n: **Well this one is going to be the first two parter and also a combination of requests. My friend **Jen** requested story about Andrew and Orson being in cahoots about something, and I had a request from **Edna E Mode** for a story about Bree and Orson's Christmas after the tornado. So I decided to write a two-part story that combined the two ideas. This first part focuses on the Orson and Andrew aspect, and tomorrow will be the Christmas fic. I hope you guys enjoy this.

Thank you again for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you all are enjoying these little stories. I have enough requests to take me through Tuesday now, but if anyone has any for the last three days, please let me know.

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Eighteen: An Unusual Christmas - Part One**

Bree was in a tizzy.

It was a fascinating state of mind for her, really. Orson wasn't sure that he'd ever seen her in such a flappable condition before, but she'd come to bed about ready to flip out.

"It's Benjamin's first Christmas and the house is in shambles and _what_ are we going to do?" she asked, wringing her hands and pacing the floor. "Susan invited us to her mother's, but I don't know if even _I _have the capability to keep a fake smile on my face for that long."

"Darling, calm down," said Orson, grasping her hand as she passed by and tugging her down onto the bed. "We don't have to go to Susan's mother's."

"We don't have anywhere else to go, though. Unless—my parents—but I don't particularly want—"

"There are other places."

"Like?"

Orson shrugged. "Andrew's?"

Bree tittered. "Oh, that's a lovely thought, but the four of us crammed into that tiny apartment? And I'm sure he has other plans. He hasn't even mentioned Christmas to me this year."

Orson refrained from saying anything disrespectful about Andrew and patted Bree's hand reassuringly. "I will figure something out. I promise."

Still, neither of them had a very restful night's sleep.

The next day (while Bree was patiently trying to teach Susan how to make a meatloaf), Orson slipped out of the house, scarcely muttering that he was leaving, and headed over to Andrew's. Regardless of whether Andrew wanted to spend Christmas with Bree or not, Orson wasn't particularly willing to bargain on the issue. They needed somewhere to go, and Bree was his mother; even Andrew had to have a sense of the importance of family at Christmas.

Orson hadn't been to Andrew's apartment yet, and although the building was shabby and the stairwell rickety, he was somewhat reassured by the festive wreath on the outside of Andrew's door. He could almost pretend that it was homey. Promptly, he rapped on the door, and then folded his hands behind his back and began to whistle a cheery little tune. When the door opened, he grinned brightly.

"Orson?"

"Hello, Andrew. I was just in the neighborhood and I though I'd drop by. May I come in?"

Clearly thrown off guard, Andrew stepped back and welcomed Orson into the house, shutting the door with a snappy little click. Without preamble, Orson rocked jauntily back and forth on his feet for a second and said, "I want you to invite us over for Christmas."

Andrew's face instantly twisted into his patented scoff, a look Orson had at times wondered if he'd inherited from Rex—he'd certainly never seen the expression on Bree's face. He crossed his arms, staring Orson down as though he'd been given a ridiculous directive. "And why would I do that?"

"Because our other option is to go with Susan Delfino to her mother's."

"Yeah. That's a tough break, Orson. Let me know how it works out."

Orson sighed, sinking down onto Andrew's couch even though he hadn't been invited to sit and looking up at his stepson. "If you can't do it for me or your mother, I would at least think you could do it for your brother."

"Benjamin isn't my brother."

"Andrew—"

"Orson, come on. The kid is two months old. This isn't about him. Tell me the truth: Mom is freaking out, isn't she? Getting all upset because she's not going to be able to micromanage the holiday the way she usually does."

"Your mother does not micromanage."

"Didn't you once call her the taskmaster?"

"That was you!"

Andrew shrugged. "Whatever. The point is that I'm finally on my own; I finally get to do things my way. I don't need her over here…_criticizing_ everything."

Orson glanced around the apartment. In the corner of the living room was a hefty evergreen, meticulously covered in tiny lights and colorful silver and gold baubles. Wreaths hung on all of the windows and a series of poinsettias were lined up symmetrically on either side of the slightly decrepit looking fireplace. Across the mantle was a line of cheerful Christmas cards. Except for the lack of a nativity scene, it looked at though Bree had already been and gone.

He thought it wouldn't be to his advantage to point this out.

"Are you telling me," he asked slowly, "that you'd rather spend Christmas alone than with your mother?"

"How do you know I'm spending it alone?"

"You're not?"

For the first time, Andrew shifted somewhat uncomfortably and his demeanor of carelessness dropped. "Danielle was talking about coming."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Orson stared at him, vaguely registering his surprise, and then proceeded to lie through his teeth. "Well why should that be a problem? The whole family together. What's wrong with that?"

"Have you suffered a blow to the head recently?"

"Andrew, please. This would mean the world to your mother."

"And it's all about Mom, isn't it?"

Orson didn't respond. For him, everything was about Bree—it had been since the moment he'd met her. His stepson sighed deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was a weakening, and Orson thought that he'd found his in. Rather resigned, Andrew said, "Fine. Come over for Christmas."

Orson stood, patting Andrew on the back. "Thank you. We'd be glad to."

"Yeah. We'll see about that."

Ignoring this, Orson started for the door, but then paused, unsure, with his hand on the doorknob. "You know," he said casually, "maybe it's best if we don't tell your mom that Danielle is coming."

"Don't worry about it, Orson," said Andrew. "I know when to keep my mouth shut."

Orson left before he had time to worry about Andrew's sincerity.


	19. An Unusual Christmas Part Two

**Disclaimer: **It never has been mine and it never will be mine.

**A/n: **Part two of the Bree/Orson Christmas spectacular (or something like that). Enjoy!

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Nineteen: An Unusual Christmas – Part Two**

Orson kissed her cheek, and then her lips, gradually drawing her from sleep that Christmas morning. On any other day, it would have been the perfect way to wake up, but Bree thought that today she might actually want to sleep through Christmas. Displaced from their home, not even getting to cook—it didn't feel like Christmas, no matter how hard Orson was trying for normalcy.

"Good morning," he murmured in her ear before kissing the sensitive skin behind it. Bree squirmed at the pleasant sensation and rolled over to smile up at her husband.

"Merry Christmas."

"So we are acknowledging that it's Christmas."

"Of course it's still Christmas." She frowned, reaching up to cup Orson's cheek with her hand. "I'm sorry if I've been acting like it isn't."

"It's okay. I know how important the holiday is." He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. "You know, I think we have time before church for—"

"No we don't."

"But Bree…"

"And I already told you, not in Julie Mayer's bed."

Orson sighed, but didn't argue further. Instead he settled for giving her one last kiss and then scooted out of bed to pick up Benjamin. Bree watched them for a moment, actually quite contented, and then got out of bed to get ready for church. After services they were going straight to a Christmas luncheon at the club (which Bree dreaded, despite knowing that it would be superb), and then it was on to Andrew's for the evening.

All-in-all a nice, unusual Christmas.

She just wished she actually felt that way.

* * *

"We're early," said Orson, somewhat anxiously. Bree ignored this and shifted Benjamin's baby carrier to her other hand as she reached Andrew's door. Whatever good manners said about arriving early was canceled out by the idea of spending one more minute at the club. Two hours had been more than enough.

"I'm sure Andrew will be perfectly passive aggressive if he's truly upset. We can ignore that. Now stop worrying." She knocked on the door before Orson could make another protest, and a minute later the door swung open.

"Mom? Orson?"

"Merry Christmas!" said Bree, stepping into the apartment without being invited. She set Benjamin down on the floor and gave Andrew a big hug as Orson shuffled in behind her. Smiling, she glanced around the apartment, impressed by the effort Andrew had made, and then her eyes widened in shock. Sitting on the couch was her daughter.

"Danielle?"

"Mom?"

Danielle went pale, setting her glass of wine down on the table and standing abruptly. She looked to Andrew—who had blurted out, "You're early!"—and hurriedly picked up her coat from where it lay over the arm of the couch. "I was just leaving," she muttered, snatching her purse and making a beeline for the door. Bree watched her, agog.

"Danielle—"

"Andrew, really. It's fine. I'll see you later."

With only the barest glance at the baby, Danielle hurried out of the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind her. For a moment, the rest of them stared at one another until finally Andrew shut the door. He looked somewhat annoyed, though Bree couldn't imagine why.

"You guys weren't supposed to be here until three."

"I didn't know—Orson, you didn't tell me Danielle would be here."

"Er—"

"It shouldn't have mattered, Mom. She was going to leave before you got here. But you're early."

"Why was she going to leave? Why _did_ she leave?"

Andrew gave her a look that made her feel small and naïve; she turned to Orson, but he had ducked his head suspiciously. Bree had the sudden, terrible feeling that she was the only one who hadn't anticipated this result, and she wondered at what junction she'd had to trade her daughter for Benjamin.

And how was the she only one who hadn't realized that it was a trade?

"Whatever," said Andrew dismissively. "It's over. Come in and sit down."

Ignoring the tight feeling in her chest, Bree walked over and sat down on the couch, eyeing the wine on the table cautiously. It was on the tip of her tongue to reprimand Andrew—he and Danielle were both still underage—but she repressed the urge. Orson set down the bags of presents they'd brought near the tree and then joined her, picking up Danielle's wine glass and emptying what remained in one fluid motion. For a moment, she desperately wished she could do the same.

Then Orson took her hand, squeezing it gently, and Andrew put on Christmas music, and she gradually quelled the thought of having a drink. It was just a matter of pushing the bad thoughts away and concentrating on the good ones. There was no need to worry about the fact that she wasn't at home, and her daughter apparently couldn't be in the same room with her, and this wasn't the way Christmas was supposed to be. She had to concentrate on what she had—not what she was missing.

She still had Andrew and Benjamin. She still had Orson. Looking at them now, laughing and chatting amicably, she warmed slightly to the idea. She still had her family, even if it wasn't complete. That had always been the most important part of Christmas anyway.

Andrew clapped his hands together, eyeing the tree. "So do we get to open presents now?"

It was also immensely reassuring that some things really never changed.


	20. The World Spins On

**Disclaimer: **I have absolutely no claim to _Desperate Housewives_.

**A/n: **This is for **Maddy**, who asked for an M-rated Tom and Lynette fic. I decided to do one that I've been meaning to write for a long time, but have never gotten around to, and I swear, it was just supposed to be good old fashioned smut, but then...Well, then it decided to converge with a couple of other ideas that I've been meaning to get down for over a year now, and turned out kind of epically long for a one-shot. Ah well, at least it's porn with some plot for once.

This takes place pre-series, around May 2003. It also blatantly ignores everything that happens in the season five episode "The Best Thing That Ever Could Have Happened," mostly because, well, that episode makes no sense (at least the Lynette part of it that is). I could go on ranting about that for another eight pages, but since this is already way too long, I'll spare you.

This chapter is rated a strong M, so please skip it if you're not comfortable with that kind of thing (although you could probably read about half of it without encountering anything too naughty).

Thank you all for reading and reviewing these fics. And I'm still looking for those last two requests, so please let me know if you have something! Thanks!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twenty: The World Spins On**

Lynette's head was pounding.

Her sisters sat on either side of her, fighting with their mother. Despite trying to keep their voices in check (since they were right outside and the boys were running around in the yard), they were not the type of people naturally inclined to stay quiet, and their volume was progressively increasing. Lynette was in no mood for any of it—not for her mother's unexpected arrival and announcement that she wanted to move in; not for her sisters shrill arguments that their mother should live with their aunt (no matter if the intervention had been Lynette's idea); not for her kids' screaming as they played tag. None of it helped her headache, nor did the fact that Tom had apparently disappeared.

"None of us have room for you, Mom," Lydia was saying.

"Well lucky for you, I only want to stay here. And Lynette has a whole spare bedroom."

Lynette pinched the bridge of her nose. It didn't help her headache in the slightest. "You're not staying here, Mom."

"You won't just kick an old woman out on the street."

"She's not," said Lucy snidely. "She's kicking you over to Aunt Charlotte's. We already talked to her. She's more than happy to have you."

"Well I'm not going."

Lynette stood, ignoring the looks from her family, and said in a voice that she barely recognized as her own, "I'm going to see what's taking Tom so long."

"Lynette—"

"I'll be right back. Keep an eye on the boys."

And she walked away without waiting for a response.

She'd sent Tom over to the Van de Kamps' thirty minutes ago to check on the house and run the sprinklers, a task that shouldn't have taken nearly that long. They'd been coerced into house sitting while their neighbors were off watching Andrew at some state swim meet, but Tom had been using it as an excuse to get out of the house whenever things got too crazy. Since her mother had arrived three days ago, he was constantly volunteering to go check on things. She had a suspicion that he was using the time to watch television.

Delighted by the idea that this could be the perfect time to catch him in the act, she lengthened her stride, cutting through the lawn to reach the front door. Of course, it was then, without any warning, that her husband finally decided to turn on the sprinklers. The spigots shot from the ground, spraying water in every direction. Lynette made a hurried dash for the door, but by the time she got there, she was soaked.

More annoyed than ever, she opened the door and stormed inside. Tom, who stood in the foyer, looked at her with sheepish surprise. "It started to rain?" he asked hopefully.

Lynette pushed her hair out of her eyes and frowned. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No. It was just unfortunate timing. I figured I better get moving before you noticed how long I'd been gone. I guess I was just a few minutes too late."

"What have you been doing over here? It's a war zone at our house, in case you've forgotten."

"Why do you think I'm over here?"

Lynette rolled her eyes. She knew that he was as annoyed as she was. He'd been out of town for a week only to come home and find her mother crashing at their house; it wasn't a pleasant situation for anyone.

But it also didn't give him the right to hide out when she needed him to help her exorcise this particular demon.

"You know, I bet you came over to escape the madness too."

"I came over to find you."

"Right. But now that you're here…" Tom waggled his eyebrows suggestively, stepping toward her and wrapping his arms around her back. He gave her a quick peck, and then smiled.

"Are you insane?"

"Only on days your mother is in town." He ignored her eye roll and brushed some more of her wet hair from her face. "Come on, sweetie. I was gone for a week and we haven't done anything since I got back. Between Parker thinking our bed is his, and your mother prowling around like a cat…"

Lynette shook her head, mostly to remind herself that it wasn't a good idea, because despite everything, what he said made sense to her. And if she was thinking that irrationally, then nothing good was going to come of this. "We can't do it here!"

"Why not?"

"It's too—sterile. Bree would know in a second."

Tom smirked. "They do seem like the type that only do it in the bedroom, don't they? Not what I'd call adventurous."

"_We're_ not adventurous either."

Tom laughed, a low, mumbling chuckle that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. His hands drifted down to her ass, caressing her gently, and he leaned forward to kiss her neck. "I beg to differ. You want to pretend that we're a nice, normal couple, but I'm afraid that you can't fool the one person who has all of your misdeeds catalogued and stored for easy access."

"All of my misdeeds?"

"The office."

"Doesn't count."

"The car. That beach on our honeymoon."

Lynette hummed as he kissed a particularly sensitive part of her neck, and he repeated the action. Without thinking, she wrapped her hands behind his head, keeping him in place. "Honeymoon sex definitely doesn't count."

"Mary Alice's pool that one time. A couple different public bathrooms. That time in the hammock. Oh, and let's not forget Mr. Toad's Wild Ride."

"All your bad influence."

"Nuh-uh," he said, suddenly moving his hands and dipping her body dramatically. "I'm afraid it takes two to tango, Mrs. Scavo."

Although she was trying very hard to ignore her rapidly beating heart, Lynette couldn't entirely disregard how intensely Tom was staring at her, and she felt like she was about to melt in his arms. It had been the longest dry spell they'd ever had. And Bree wouldn't really find out…

Tom seemed to sense her weakening, but to her surprise, pulled her back to a standing position instead of lowering her to the floor. She grasped his arm, struck by a sudden vertigo that was only worsened when he began to kiss her again. She almost laughed; kissed senseless, as though she was the heroine in a Victorian era novel. She never would have believed it possible. His hands dropped to cup her from behind, pulling her as close as possible, and just as Lynette thought she was going to swoon (the right word for someone who'd apparently gone back in time a hundred years, she thought hopelessly), Tom stepped back.

Lynette blinked at him, rather dazed, her gaze focused on the damp spots her shirt had made against his. Tom put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. "You okay?" he asked. "You look a little pale."

Strange, considering how she felt so feverish. "Yeah. Just a dizzy spell."

"You've been getting those a lot lately."

She shrugged, not about to admit that he'd caused this one. "I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I'm sure it's nothing."

Tom frowned, obviously more concerned than she was. It was touching in an entirely obnoxious sort of way. "We could just go home."

Lynette thought about her mother being a royal pain, and her sisters bickering, and the boys running around screaming, and the throbbing in her head doubled. "No," she said firmly. "Let's just stay here until it passes."

Ignoring the worry in Tom's eyes, Lynette sat down on Bree's steps and put her head between her knees. After a moment, she felt Tom sit down next to her, his hand running up and down her back sympathetically. "You know, I really don't want to be the one to say this, but are you sure you're not…" He paused, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "…pregnant?"

Lynette groaned and shut her eyes, trying not to think of the three positive pregnancy tests she'd already thrown out with the trash. It was the last thing she needed on top of everything else going on, and other than making the doctor's appointment, she'd been ignoring it thus far. Besides, she'd had false positives before—just last year in fact—and that was why she was utterly determined not to jump to conclusions before she had news from the doctor. But considering how anxious Tom sounded…And she was a terrible liar anyway…

"Maybe."

"What?"

Slowly, Lynette raised her head, turning to look at Tom. His hand slid up to the back of her neck, fingers twisting in the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "I might be pregnant. I'm not sure. Hence the doctor's appointment."

Tom blew out a low breath, genuine happiness warring with the concern in his eyes. "That is…huge."

"It's not anything yet," she said somewhat huffily. "It's not anything until the doctor says so."

"Okay. You're right. But if it is…something…How do you feel about it?"

"I haven't let myself think about it. It's—" She shrugged. "It's another baby."

"Admitting it is the first step."

Lynette scowled, but Tom gave her a soft look and then kissed her. "Could be a girl this time."

"Could be another boy."

Tom grinned. "Odds are one or the other. Look, I'm going to take off work tomorrow, come to the doctor's with you. Whatever it is, we should hear it together."

A strange, unsure feeling blossomed in Lynette's chest. Tom had never been there when the doctor gave her the news; he'd never been witness to her initial wave of panic before that tiny pinprick of happiness grew enough to let her show some semblance of excitement. She wasn't sure she wanted him to be there this time either.

"Unless," he said uncertainly, "that's a problem?"

Lynette looked at him, watching him watch her with love and worry and happiness and fear, and wondered what she possibly thought would happen. The truth was that he was going to hold her hand and hug her and kiss her, whatever the news was, and his excitement would inevitably get her excited, just like it always had before. "No," she said quietly. "You should come."

Tom leaned in to kiss her again, obviously intending to give her just a small peck, but she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and held him close, tenderly prolonging the kiss. The dizziness had passed, and she was still wanton with need for him. "Lynette," he said, speaking between kisses. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She sighed the word into his mouth, twisting her body toward his. "We just need to take it slow."

Tom nodded, kissing her softly one last time and then pulling back. Briefly, he cupped her cheek with his hand, and then he gathered the fabric at the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. Lynette had a moment to let her eyes rove the planes of his chest before he started to kiss her again, slowly building the heat between them. At the same time, she let her hands roam over his back and chest, marveling at the familiarity of the movement of his muscles and the feel of his soft skin, still finding herself excited by him even after seven years together. Tom nipped her bottom lip, and then shifted to start kissing her neck again. Lynette savored the sensation for a moment before interrupting him to pull off her sopping tank top.

To her surprise, Tom went right back to kissing her, his hands still wrapped around her lower back. Her skin tingled where his fingertips laid against her—ten pinpricks of heat against the chill of the air conditioned house. In an effort to encourage him to take his attention southward, she reached around to unhook her bra and the garment fell limply into her lap. Still, Tom didn't break their kiss, just persistently moving his lips against hers and every so often slipping his tongue into her mouth. Insistent, Lynette broke the kiss and took advantage of his surprise to climb into his lap.

"I thought you wanted to take it slow."

"This is slow."

"No, this is you impatient.'

Lynette smiled, knowing full well that he was trying to get her to beg for it, but she was very willing to turn the tables on him. She liked seeing him desperate for her. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, and then moved her hands to her breasts, kneading them and tweaking her nipples in the way she ached to be touched by him. Tom watched her stimulate herself, his mouth hanging open in a way she didn't think he was aware of. Finally, he batted her hands out of the way, covering her breasts with his own for a moment, and then leaning down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. She threw back her head, her back arching at the feel of his tongue swirling over her, as he firmly sucked on her tit. This was what she wanted; he knew exactly how to touch her until her mind went mercilessly blank and she could focus on nothing but the feel of his body against hers.

It was bliss.

Her hand drifted to the back of his head and she threaded her fingers through his short hair to keep him exactly where she wanted him. At the same time, she began to move the lower half of her body against his, trying to satisfy the ache between her legs as best she could. Tom chuckled against her breast, and gently began to kiss a path from one to the other. Her attention was so focused on his mouth, that she didn't even notice his hand blazing a trail down her stomach until his fingers were suddenly, relentlessly pressing against her core. She writhed against him, making a noise that sounded foreign to her ears and Tom groaned loudly.

"Okay," he muttered, pressing a kiss right between her breasts and then trailing his way back up to her lips. "Okay, okay. Have we gone slow enough?"

"Now who's impatient?"

Tom rubbed his finger hard over her jeans and she squealed, dropping her hands to fumble with the fly of her pants. "Yeah," said Tom, kissing her cheek, her neck and then her lips again. "That's what I thought."

"Shut up and take off your pants."

Shakily, Lynette slid off his lap for a moment, standing on the bottom stair so she could remove her pants. Tom did the same, and standing a few stairs above her, positively towered over her; it left him fairly well-positioned. Grinning, she reached out and rubbed the head of his cock, letting her thumb run over the tip and squeezing him firmly. He began to mutter, a string of nonsense pleas that ran together until they were indistinguishable. Delighting in this strange power she had, she bent, placing her mouth where her hand had just been and gently running her tongue in a circle around him. She continued to do this, changing direction and pattern every so often, but never taking him deeper, never moving her mouth, until she felt his hands tangle in her hair, trying to subtly urge her on. Evilly, she pulled away, stroking him a few times with her hand until he whimpered.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice coming out breathy and low. "Do you want to come inside of me?"

"God, yes."

Lynette smirked, stepping up a stair so they were on a slightly more even level, and then took his hand and brought it up to her mouth. Carefully, she kissed each fingertip, and then went back to his index finger, bringing it wholly into her mouth and sucking on it. She let her eyes drift up to look at him; his own eyes were closed and he was clearly about to lose control. Not wanting to drive him over the edge too soon, she pulled back. "Sit down," she ordered, and Tom did so without hesitation.

Quickly, she straddled his lap again, moving until the lower half of her body was pressed firmly against his dick. Tom's left hand went right for her breast, pinching her nipple even harder than before. She ground against him, and then to her delight, he took hold of his cock and began to rub it against her center. It was her turn to lose control; her turn to mumble incoherently—a strange prayer to someone to let her find some kind of relief. Tom continued to go faster and faster, and just as she could feel the world blurring on the edge of ecstasy, he stopped.

"Gotta be inside you," he muttered, leaning forward and kissing her hard. Lynette had never been more inclined to agree. She lifted the lower half of her body for a moment, grabbing him firmly and guiding him to her opening. Groaning, she lowered herself onto him, clenching her muscles around him, and then they both sat still for a moment, panting.

"What if you're not pregnant?" he asked, leaning his forehead against hers, his hands on her hips to keep her from moving. Her mind spun, barely able to comprehend the question.

"Huh?"

"Don't have a condom. You want me to pull out?"

"No. No, no, no, no…It feels too good. Besides, I'm probably already—" She couldn't complete the thought, but instead kissed him eagerly, simultaneously rotating herself in a circle against him. Tom nodded, and then his hands began to guide her hips, helping her find a rhythm with him until she was moving furiously on top of him. She tipped her head back, almost crying over how amazing this felt, and then his fingers were on her, pressing against her with the most incredible, intense pressure. She shut her eyes, letting him work her into a frenzy until finally stars exploded behind her eyes and she was screaming. It was the most fantastic joy.

She felt Tom seize against her, leaning forward and biting her shoulder as he came inside of her. For a minute, he thrust against her erratically, the muscles of his back tense under her hands. Then, finally, he relaxed, kissing her where he'd just bitten her, letting his tongue salve the wound.

For a few minutes, Lynette couldn't move. She sat, panting heavily, as Tom pressed haphazard kisses against her neck and chest. When he finally pulled back, she dropped her head to his shoulder, laughing shakily. He ran his hands over her back in a comforting way, almost as if he was afraid he'd pushed her too far. "You okay?" he asked, kissing her temple.

"Yeah."

It was the most she could manage to say. Her whole body was overwhelmed with what had just happened; her skin oversensitive to the feel of him still against her; her mind spinning in an almost alarming fashion as every worry crept back into focus. It was all too much; she thought she might cry.

She was glad when Tom just held her, not saying another word.


	21. Picture of a Perfect Family

**Disclaimer: **This still isn't mine. I swear.

**A/n: **This is for **jazmyn-96, **who asked for a story about a time Tom went to visit Kayla. I decided to write about the first time they met. This takes place around August of 2006; late season two fic.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it. I only need one more request, so if you have something in mind, please let me know!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twenty-One: Picture of a Perfect Family**

"There."

"Ow!"

"Stop being a baby!" said her mother. Then, as if to spite her, she gave another particularly hard tug at Kayla's hair. Kayla bit her tongue that time, merely scowling at her reflection in the mirror. Her mother had spent the past half an hour primping Kayla to the point of discomfort, strapping her down into an absurdly filly dress, messing with her hair, and even pinching her cheeks to give them some color. Her mother was always like this when they were going to have company—putting on a show, though Kayla could never figure out why. Until they'd moved in with her grandparents, they'd always given Gram and Grampa this treatment too; Kayla was much happier now that they lived together and she didn't have to go through this dog and pony show every time they decided to stop by.

Her mother inspected her one more time in the mirror, wearing the same sour expression as Kayla. After a moment, she gave a satisfactory nod and barked, "Now leave it alone!"

Kayla slid off the stool in front of the mirror, throwing a look back at her mother before she left the room. Her mom was completely focused on her own appearance now (she'd spent three times as long getting herself ready, which made no sense to Kayla, as it was _her _father coming), but her vanity was the perfect cover for Kayla to slip away unnoticed. As soon as she was out of the room, she reached up and pulled the bubblegum pink bow from her hair with an annoyed tug, and smiled gleefully. There wouldn't be time to fix it.

Ignoring her dress, Kayla swung herself over the banister and slid from the second floor down to the first. Her grandmother hated when she did that, but she and Grampa had gone to the opera or something tonight. Her mother had bought the tickets, claiming they were a very early Christmas present, but Kayla knew that she really just wanted them out of the house tonight. She hadn't told Gram or Grampa about the fact that Kayla's dad was coming; Kayla wasn't surprised by this; she hadn't been told herself until two weeks ago when her mother picked her up from school and took her to the hospital to have a paternity test.

"Your father needs _proof_ apparently," her mom snapped.

"My father?"

"I finally found the deadbeat." She didn't look at Kayla as she said this, but just sat filing down her nails in a nervous manner. "But he's not going to do anything for us unless we have proof."

So Kayla had gotten the test, and apparently it had come back the way her mother had wanted because her father was on his way here tonight. Her mom had been nagging her nearly incessantly about making a good impression—"We need him to like us if we're ever going to get out of this hell hole," she kept saying. Kayla didn't really know what one had to do with the other; she also didn't hate her grandparents' house as much as her mother did. She was, however, fairly intrigued by the idea of meeting her father. Her whole life, whenever she'd asked about him, her mother had barked at her to shut up because he was a no good deadbeat, and now, suddenly, he was here.

Kayla had a sneaking suspicion that he was probably rich.

Quite suddenly, the doorbell rang—a deep chiming sound that echoed through the entire house. Kayla smoothed down the front of her dress, entirely ignored her mother's shriek not to answer the door, and flounced over to open it.

The man who stood in front of her didn't look anything like how she'd imagined her father to look. She'd seen pictures of her mother's old boyfriends and often sat around spinning fantasies about which one of them might be her dad. This guy wasn't in any of the pictures; he didn't look like he belonged in the pictures either. His hair was short and he didn't have any tattoos and he was dressed just like most of her friends' fathers. Kayla stared up at him, he stared down at her, and then before either of them could say a word, her mother ran down the stairs, coming up behind Kayla and breathlessly panting hello.

"Hi. Am I—You said seven, right?"

He even sounded normal.

"You're right on time," her mother purred. "Come on in."

The man came into the house, looking around with a vague interest, and while his attention was distracted, her mother elbowed her. They'd rehearsed this, of course. Her mother had a plan. Her mother always had a plan. "Tom," she said in that weird silky voice that didn't really sound like her. "This is Kayla."

"Hi Daddy!" said Kayla in a falsely bright voice. Her mother grinned, pleased with her performance, but the man—her father, she corrected herself—paled a bit, and after Kayla stepped forward and hugged him, he smiled with an oddly queasy look on his face. "Hi," he said weakly.

"Well!" said her mother brightly. "Aren't we just the picture of a perfect little family?"

For a minute, they all stared at one another awkwardly. Her father didn't seem to know how to respond to this statement, and Kayla wondered if he was going to throw up right on her grandmother's rug. He certainly looked like he might. Finally, after the silence stretched on uncomfortably, her mother cleared her throat and directed them all to the living room. They sat down, and the staring continued.

"Was your flight okay?"

"Uh…sure. No turbulence."

"Oh that's wonderful. I hate turbulence."

"Hmm."

Kayla subtly rolled her eyes, shifting her focus to a loose thread on one of her grandmother's embroidered pillows. Absentmindedly, she began to pick at it, barely listening as her mother continued to make idle chit chat. She'd managed to unravel the tip of the beak of a large red bird when her mother stood up. "I'll get us some wine," she said in that same weird voice she'd been using all night. "Kayla, you want some milk?"

She wanted a soda, but judging by the glare in her mother's eyes, she thought she better not say so. "Sure."

"Great. I'll be right back."

Her mother gave her a meaningful look, and then left the room. With a little sigh, Kayla abandoned the pillow and looked at her father again. He still seemed awfully nervous. "So," he said, rubbing his hands on his knees, "how old are you?"

"Eleven."

"Right. Eleven. Fifth grade?"

"Sixth."

"Sixth. Wow." He blew out a low sigh, and then ran a hand through his hair. "You like school?"

Kayla shrugged. "It's okay I guess. I like math. Mom says that she's just glad I'm good at something. She isn't really too interested in any of that school stuff." Her eyes widened and she sat forward hopefully. "D'you like math?"

"Oh, well, it wasn't my best subject. I always liked art and reading. Band."

Quite unintentionally, Kayla felt a pout slip onto her face. "Oh."

"But my son, he loves math."

Kayla's eyes widened. "Your son?"

"Yeah," he said, for the first time looking more at ease. "I have three sons and a daughter. Your…siblings, I guess. Here." He pulled out his wallet, opening it, pulling out a snapshot and handing it over to Kayla. She took it hesitantly. Her dad was in the picture, a little girl with curly hair in his one arm, his other slung over the shoulders of a skinny blonde woman who stood next to him. In front of them were three little red-headed boys. Kayla bit her lip. He had a whole family.

To her surprise, he stood up, coming over and sitting down on the couch next to her. "That's Penny," he said, pointing to the little girl. "Porter, Preston, and Parker—he's the one who likes math—"

"Who is that?" asked Kayla, pointing to the woman.

"Oh, that's my wife. Lynette."

Kayla glanced over at him. He was staring hard at the picture, but after a minute, he seemed to realize that she was looking at him surreptitiously, and he met her gaze. "You've got a whole family," she said quietly.

"Yeah. But, well, I guess they're really your family now too."

Before Kayla had time to process that statement, her mother reentered the room like a crash of thunder. "Well you two look cozier," she said smoothly. She sank down next to Kayla. "What's that?"

"His family."

"What?"

"I was just showing Kayla a picture of her brothers and sister. That's all."

Her mother's voice became decidedly less silky. "You're married?"

"Yeah. For almost ten years."

"Well. Isn't that…nice."

But something about the way her mother said this, made Kayla think that it was anything but nice.


	22. The Soup is Burning

**Disclaimer: **I have absolutely no claim to this show, I swear.

**A/n: **This is for **Coco Saugatuck,** who asked for a continuation of a story I wrote last year about Bree and Orson slowly rediscovering their intimacy after he was released from prison (chapter 15 part one of "Coda: Season Six," if you're interested—you don't have to read that to understand this).

Well, I have met my quota for requests for this fic. Thank you to everyone who asked for something; I wouldn't have been able to do this without you. I hope you all enjoy these last few chapters. The last one will be posted on the 24th. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twenty-Two: The Soup is Burning**

The problem, as Orson saw it, was that neither he nor Bree liked to talk about the unpleasant things. They were both the type of people who pretended everything was okay because they'd both had enough sadness in their lives that it didn't seem right to waste any more time on it. Perhaps it was a flawed theory—that you could be happy if you pretended to be happy—but Orson had been living that way for so long that he wasn't sure what else to do. Truthfully, marrying Bree had been the first time he'd _ever_ really been happy in his life, and now that they had a problem, he was falling back into old patterns.

He glanced over at Bree. She was at the stove making chicken noodle soup (Andrew was ill, and she was treating him as though he was still a small child. Andrew would be annoyed, of course, but Orson thought it was lovely), and humming under her breath. They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms last night. Bree had told him that she missed him. And yet he still wasn't sure. They'd been so mad at one another before he left for jail; she'd visited him infrequently at best while he was there; and she'd seemed to be walking on eggshells around him ever since he'd gotten home. It made him worry that if he did do what he wanted—to impulsively grab her and kiss her senseless, and then make love to her right here in the kitchen—that she'd turn away.

But what were his choices? He could try the spontaneous route (not his strong suit), or he could ignore the situation, or they could talk about it.

Orson sighed heavily, and wondered just when he had become such a coward. Perhaps he always had been.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, startled. Bree had turned from her soup, giving him a worried look, and he realized that she had heard the sigh. "Oh—er—yes. I was just…thinking."

Bree nodded, started to turn back to her soup, and then paused. "About what?" she asked softly, as though she already knew the answer. Maybe she did. Maybe she had been thinking about the same thing. Maybe the world wouldn't end if he just told her.

"About us."

The only sound in the room was the soup bubbling on the stove. Orson felt his breath catch and nearly choke him, and for a moment he wanted to take it all back. Not just the words, but everything: agreeing to go to jail; not properly explaining to Bree how abusive his mother had been; hitting Mike with his car; trying to pretend that his life had any meaning at all before he met Bree. If he could just go back in time and fix everything, he just knew that they could be okay again…

"Do you think," said Bree, breaking his train of thought, "that you'll ever be able to forgive me?"

"What?"

"Forgive me. For losing Benjamin. I know that you're angry…"

The denial bubbled to his lips before he even thought about it. "No. No, I'm not." And then, at her skeptical look, he actually took a moment to process the words. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe he was angry. But it was as much—if not more—at himself than at Bree. "No, I'm not," he repeated firmly.

"But you've been so distant. I thought—"

"Because you were! You've scarcely looked at me since I got back. I thought…I thought that maybe you'd moved on, or that you couldn't forgive me…"

Bree blinked at him owlishly, as though tears were brimming—crying on the inside. Bree was always crying on the inside. Finally giving in to his impulses, Orson stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her tightly. Instantly he relaxed. This was right. This was perfect. This was everything.

"I stopped being mad at you a long time ago," Bree said into his shoulder. "Right after you confessed I realized that I didn't really want you to go, but it was too late. And then I couldn't face you in that…place. And then Benjamin…These past two years have been…"

"I know." The worst. The absolute worst. And when were they going to stop torturing themselves over it?

"I just love you so much."

"I love you too." He kissed her temple and then pulled back and cupped her face with his hands. She was crying now; her nose was red and the tears slithered down her cheeks into his fingers—she'd never looked more beautiful. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Orson kissed her then. Kissed her as he'd wanted to for over a week now. Kissed her with the passion of a man who had been denied the only woman he'd ever wanted. And her response was everything he wanted in return.

She pulled back first, clutching his shirt, talking over the kisses he pressed to her lips and cheeks. "Please tell me that everything is going to go back to the way it was," she begged him. "Please tell me that we're going to be as happy as we were before…"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." He kissed her again. Nothing was going to ruin them. They'd already survived the worst, and the road ahead could only be better. He had no doubts in his mind.

Bree half-laughed, half-sobbed into his mouth, and Orson eagerly began to unbutton her cardigan. She didn't hesitate; she didn't even flinch—her hands went right to his pants, undoing his fly, letting them drop to the floor—

"The soup—"

Bree smiled. "I don't care about the soup."

_Yes_, he thought, touching her, kissing her, loving her. _Absolutely no doubts._


	23. Like a Wink and a Smile

**Disclaimer: **It isn't mine. Nope, nope, nope.

**A/n: **This is for **Meg**, who asked for a fic that dealt with the fallout of all the Kayla drama in season four. I always planned to do a long fic that picked up at the end of season four, so this is a good way to wet my feet. Takes place after "The Gun Song," right after they pack Kayla up and ship her away.

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twenty-Three: Like a Wink and a Smile**

The problem with living in a house with six people was that it was nearly impossible to find a moment of privacy. Usually Tom didn't mind; he wasn't the type who had ever shied away from company, preferring, in fact, to be surrounded rather than alone. But the day had been long and tiring—was it really only two o'clock?—and the ache of sending Kayla away weighed heavily on him. The sadness had settled in his heart, but it was anger throbbed through his veins and guilt that had settled rock hard in his stomach. More than anything, Tom wanted to find a moment's respite from it, and he had finally crept up to his bedroom to try to get few minutes of peace from his family.

In reality, he got approximately three minutes to himself before the door opened and Lynette came into the room. From where he sat on the edge of the bed, Tom glanced at her, but then resumed studying his hands as though they were suddenly fascinating. To his surprise, Lynette didn't say a word, simply coming over to the bed and crawling onto it so she was seated behind him. They sat quietly, and though Tom thought he'd welcome the silence, it irked him at the same time. Why was she here if it wasn't to talk? Why didn't she just leave him alone?

"You need something?"

"No."

Tom rolled his eyes—she couldn't see him anyway—and slouched forward a bit. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to pick up on his not-so-subtle body language. From where she knelt on the bed behind him, Lynette wrapped her arms around his back, hugging him tightly and resting her chin on his shoulder. The embrace was comforting in a way he didn't expect, given his mood, but his bitterness clung to him like a shadow. Lynette dipped her head for a second to kiss his shoulder, and then said, "I wish things could have been different."

This…This was the very conversation he wanted to avoid. For a second, he considered ignoring the statement, and then dismissed the idea of brushing her off as quickly as it had come. "Different how?" he asked sullenly.

"Tom—"

"Different like Kayla wasn't trying to ruin our lives, or different like Norah hadn't kept her from me for eleven years, or different like I'd never found out?"

Lynette pressed a kiss to his cheek, apparently unperturbed by his unpleasantness. Her calm unexpectedly lessened the tight feeling in his chest. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes I wish for all three. Mostly, yeah, I wish that she had been happy here and that she hadn't spent the first eleven years of her life with that lunatic. But every once in awhile…"

She pressed her mouth into his shoulder, apparently unwilling to say the words even though they both knew what she was going to say. More than anything, Tom couldn't stand the idea that she was suddenly going to filter her thoughts. "Say it," he snapped, more harshly than he meant to.

Lynette gave a small sigh—she didn't sound particularly frustrated, just sad. "You know that sometimes I think we would have been better off if Norah had never contacted you."

The words fell over him like a cool rain, almost as if it felt good to hear them. She'd never said this out loud before, but Tom had seen it in her eyes many times over the past two years. He'd always thought that he was annoyed with her for even thinking it, but now he realized that he'd really just been bothered by her inability to say it. Because if she couldn't say it, how could he?

"I know that that's a horrible thing to say," Lynette said quietly. "I know that if I was a better wife, I wouldn't feel that way because I'd be able to love her just because she's _yours_ and you are the most important person in my life, but—"

"It's how you feel."

"Sometimes."

"Me too."

Silence fell between them, so long and significant that Tom might have thought she hadn't heard him except for the way her body tensed against his. She was surprised. She'd never realized. He wasn't sure if that lessened or increased his guilt.

"I feel like I ruined our marriage."

"No, Tom—"

"Not completely," he said, ignoring her interruption. He needed to get this out. He'd needed to get this out for a long time. "But like I broke it in some way and now it's never going to be as perfect as it was. There are times…There are times I wish that I had just ignored Norah, and maybe this all would have just gone away."

Lynette made an impatient humming noise in the back of her throat. The sound flitted around him like a gnat; jawing at his nerves. "You couldn't have done that. Even now, with everything that's happened, you'd still go back and do it all over again. I love you for that."

"Do you?"

Her nose brushed his cheek, followed by her lips; his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. It was inexplicable how she could make him feel loved with just the simplest touch. "Of course I do. You're such a good guy." She kissed him again. "A good husband. A good father."

Tom laughed shakily. "No, I'm not. Kayla—"

"Kayla has a lot of problems. Problems she had before you even came into her life. Problems that were only made worse by her mom dying. And maybe we could have done something about it sooner…We're never going to know for sure. But you can't blame yourself."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"Tom."

He turned, finally, breaking her hold on him. As soon as he was facing her, she reached out and put a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over his lips for a moment before dropping her hand to grasp his. Slowly, he threaded their fingers together. "I failed her."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah. I did. And that's something I'm going to have to learn to live with."

Her eyes darkened into that stormy color that so perfectly reflected her mood. He knew without her saying anything that she didn't agree with him, and that she wanted to keep picking this apart until he saw things her way. Unfortunately, his feelings weren't pliable, and she was going to have to deal with this as much as he had to deal with his guilt. Gently, he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Be patient with me?"

Lynette sighed, struggling with something, and gave a slight shrug. "I will try. You know it's not my strong suit. Especially if it means sitting around watching you beat yourself up."

"What if I say you can whip me into shape if I get too mopey?"

She leaned forward, eyes dancing with an unexpected mirth. When her lips were a breath away from his, she said, "What do you think I'm doing?"

Despite himself—despite her—he couldn't fight the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. She really was amazing. "You know," he said, his gaze flitting from her eyes to her lips, "I think you're good for me."

Lynette gave him a self-satisfied smirk and then opened her mouth, probably to gloat, but before she could say a word, Tom cut her off. "Oh just shut up and kiss me," he said, and for once, she gave him no argument.


	24. Visiting Hours

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**A/n: **Well this last one is for **FelicityKHuffman**, who asked for a story about the girls and Tom visiting Lynette in the hospital after she was shot. Season three fic.

This is the last day for my December fic-a day marathon. I'd like to sincerely thank everyone who requested; I had so much fun writing out these stories. I've already had a couple more requests that didn't make the cutoff for this story, but I'm always willing to keep a list of requests at hand to play around with throughout the year, so I promise to get to them eventually. Same goes for any other requests—let me know and I'll add them to my list.

Thank you so much to everyone who read and especially those of you who reviewed. I really hope you enjoyed these stories. Happy holidays!

-Ryeloza

**A Collection**

By **Ryeloza**

**Twenty-Four: Visiting Hours**

"Do you think this is enough food, Bree?"

Bree glanced from the chicken casserole in her hands to the homemade banana bread that Susan held to the three types of cookies that Gaby was holding and frowned. "Do you think I should have brought the vegetable soup as well?"

Gaby and Susan exchanged a look, and then Susan grabbed Bree's elbow and pulled her forward. "This is fine. Let's just go in."

Before Bree could protest—she'd perpetually been on edge since the shooting—her friends propelled her into the room, their jabbering ceasing the moment they caught sight of Lynette. She and Tom were both squeezed onto the little bed, heads resting together, and for a second it seemed as though they were both asleep. Then just as Gaby hissed, "Should we come back later?" Tom's eyes fluttered open. He blinked at them in bleary recognition, and then raised one hand to give them a little wave that only Susan returned.

As Bree went to set the food down on the counter, Tom carefully began to extricate himself from the bed. It appeared to be a delicate process that he'd perfected over time, one which involved a lot of slithering and gentle movements. Gaby watched with one eyebrow raised until Bree snatched the cookies from her hands. At the same moment, Susan sat down on one of the chairs, and then jumped up with a little yelp. She'd sat on the television remote—the TV sprang to life—but it was her subsequent panicked squeals and fumbling that woke up Lynette. The other three froze—Tom halfway out of the bed—and glared at Susan.

"Hey," said Lynette with an exhausted smile. She sounded a little drunk, and Tom, by way of explanation, mouthed, _morphine drip_. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We came to see you," said Susan, still struggling with the television. Annoyed, Gaby grabbed the remote from her hand and clicked off the TV.

"We brought food."

"Pudding?"

Bree furrowed her brow, as though she'd never heard of something so absurd. "This is better."

Lynette, however, seemed distracted by the mere word, and she was now pronouncing it over and over, stretching out the "u" longer each time. Gaby pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh, but Bree glanced at Tom with concern. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine." Tom smiled at her. "Right, sweetie?"

"Oh hey," said Lynette cheerfully. "When'd you get here?"

Before Tom could answer, Lynette leaned over and gave him a series of quick, sloppy kisses until Tom physically pulled her off of him. "Okay," he said carefully. "I think that's enough."

"I had a dream about you," she purred contentedly. "You were wearing those cheetah man-panties—"

"Oh! Hey!" Tom blushed scarlet as the girls exchanged glances, Gaby now holding her stomach in suppressed giggles. "Let's save that for later. We've got company."

"We do?" She turned and glanced at the others, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh hey," she said again. "Are we playing poker today?"

"Not today," said Susan in a very motherly sort of way. Then, with a look at Tom, "She's really out of it, huh?"

Tom opened his mouth, but before he could agree—there was no way he was going to deny that Lynette was acting uncharacteristically silly—Lynette turned to Bree and said quite seriously, "You know, I've been meaning to ask you, have you decided yet?"

Bree hedged, obviously not eager to pursue this vague conversation. "Decided what?"

"If Orson is better in bed than Rex."

"Lynette!"

"What?"

"I…You…"

"How's your arm feeling, honey?" asked Susan, sparing Bree the struggle of coming up with an acceptable response. Gaby looked fairly disappointed by the interjection.

"My arm?"

"You were shot," said Gaby crassly. The others glared at her, but she just shrugged. Lynette seemed immune to any bad feelings anyway.

"I was?" Lynette yawned loudly. "Well it doesn't feel like it. I think they might have given me some painkillers."

"Oh, right," agreed Gaby. "I'd never have guessed."

Lynette smiled, though she didn't seem to actually pick up on Gaby's sarcasm. Instead she turned her attention to Bree, and barked loudly, "Bree! Did you find my pudding yet?"

"There's no pudding, babe."

"Bree said there was."

"No, I—There isn't—" Bree looked at them helplessly, her misery merely punctuated by a sheepish shrug from Susan. "Maybe we should go," she finally said. "Let you get some sleep."

"Are you mad?"

Susan kissed Lynette's cheek. "No, she's not mad."

"Just flustered," muttered Gaby as Bree took her turn gently hugging their friend. She got a dirty look in return, but ignored it as she bent to give Lynette a kiss. "You'll be home soon."

"Once they take off my cast."

"Right."

The girls backed toward the door, Tom trying to extricate himself from Lynette with murmurs that he'd be right back. Finally, she let him go and he followed them out into the hall.

"Wow," said Susan immediately.

"Yeah," agreed Tom, running a hand over his hair. He looked as though he hadn't slept properly in several nights, worry weighing heavily on his mind. "I'm not sure if it's going to be better or worse when she finally remembers what happened."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"Not really. She was hysterical when they first brought her out of the store, and they've had her high on painkillers ever since."

They were all quiet for a moment, each trying and failing not to think of what had happened at the grocery store two days ago. It was impossible to tell who looked more queasy—Bree or Susan; Tom looked close to tears.

"Yeah," said Gaby confidently. "But it's Lynette. She'll be fine."

Tom looked unsure, but he nodded anyway. Whatever he was thinking privately, he didn't seem to want to share with them. "Thanks for coming. And for the food."

Bree smiled tightly, obviously still affronted by her food being less desirable than pudding, and Susan wrapped a sympathetic arm around her. "Just let us know if there's anything else we can do."

"And try to get some sleep."

"Yeah." Tom smiled gratefully, patted Gaby on the shoulder, and went back into the room, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized Lynette had fallen back to sleep.


End file.
